


I Am Going To The West

by Ithildyn (Ithildin)



Series: Echoes the Sea [35]
Category: Highlander: The Series, Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crossover, Drama, F/M, Family, Family Drama, Flashbacks, Friendship, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Non Canonical Immortal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-17
Updated: 2010-08-26
Packaged: 2017-10-03 05:20:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 30,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ithildin/pseuds/Ithildyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a century and a half since Methos last saw Charlotte and Ezra. His reappearance in their lives brings back many memories; not all of them happy ones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stubborn Women and Warmer Winters

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel to 'He's a Pirate', and set a few months before the events in 'Practical Applications'. The title is from the song by Connie Dover. For those new to the series, Ezra is an Immortal in this AU, and both Charlotte and Methos were his teachers. Many thanks to Casey for reading along as I go and for brainstorming duties.

  
[ ](http://s164.photobucket.com/albums/u1/Ithidrial/?action=view&current=west2.jpg)  


  
_San Luis Obispo, California ~ Spring 2008_

"If you want my advice, I'd steal Carrie Williams away from Seacrest Vineyards," Charlotte told Duncan MacLeod. "She's an assistant winemaker there; young, but with a lot of promise. As your winemaker, she can bring your label an edge."

"Do you think she's up to the challenge?" Duncan asked as he refilled Charlotte and Methos' wine glasses.

"Absolutely! This winery has so much potential, and Carrie can help you realize it." She took a sip from her glass. "I almost bought the place back myself."

"You used to own it?" Methos asked curiously.

"I did. It was part of my landholdings once; I sold it just before Prohibition."

"Why didn't you buy it back?" Duncan asked.

The woman looked down at the table, some old sorrow in her eyes. "There was a lot going on in my life when the winery came up for sale in February. You snatched it out from under me."

"I'm sorry." Duncan sounded apologetic.

"Don't be!" She looked up, smiling, the pensive mood of before disappearing. "It's good land," she said with obvious fondness. "I think you'll be very happy here, Duncan. This is a place where even one of us can grow roots."

"I think I'd like a few roots," Duncan admitted. "It feels like home already."

The three Immortals, having finished the lunch Duncan had made, had spent the last hour talking about Duncan's plans for the winery that he'd just purchased. An easy sense of camaraderie had settled over them, and for that, he was grateful. It wasn't always easy to strike up friendships between their kind.

Charlotte, who owned a neighbouring winery, had freely given of her experience and local knowledge. Duncan, being the soul of politeness, had resisted trying to assuage his curiosity on just how Methos and Charlotte Sparrow knew each other. But he would have had to be blind not to notice the little glances, the small smiles, and the brush of fingertips, over the course of their meal. About the only thing he'd been able to gather was that Charlotte knew him as Methos and that it had been some years since the two had last been together.

It was at times like this that Duncan realized just how much of a mystery his friend still was. And somehow, he knew Methos wouldn't be whinging about the boonies of San Luis Obispo now he'd been reunited with Charlotte.

"So this is where you came to," Methos said softly, not looking at her.

"It is," she replied just as softly. Her eyes seemed fixed on her wineglass.

Methos put his hand over hers on the table. "I came back, but you were already gone." It wasn't an apology, but it was something of a plea.

Finally, she looked at him, her face soft with memories and sadness. "I know you did, dearest Benjamin."

He nodded as she touched his cheek with a fingertip. "I've missed you, Charlotte."

"As have I."

Duncan cleared his throat, finally asking the burning question, "So how long has it been since you two have seen each other?"

Methos smiled. "Too long…."  
  
_Doña Ana, New Mexico Territory ~ Autumn, 1866_

Methos left his horse drinking at the trough, looking around the main street as he slung his saddlebags over his shoulder. It felt like he'd been riding for weeks without a break, and he was thinking that maybe it was time to stay put for a while. This seemed as likely a place as any.

"New in town?" a voice asked from behind him.

Methos turned slowly, putting on his best non-threatening look -- at least for now. "Just arrived," he agreed.

The town's sheriff looked him over, and then nodded, seeming to come to a decision. "Planning on settling here or just passing through?"

"Thinking of stopping for a while; it's a beautiful piece of country."

"That it is. Hank Jenkins," the short, stocky man introduced himself, sticking out a weathered hand.

Taking the hand, Methos shook it firmly. "Matthew Adamson."

"Where you coming from?"

"Wyoming Territory."

"Never have been that far north," Sheriff Jenkins admitted. "What brings you to New Mexico?"

"I was looking for warmer winters," Methos told him with a grin.

Jenkins laughed. "Can't blame a man for that." Then he said, "You must be thirsty. Let me buy you a drink at the cantina."

"I'd be obliged."

A few minutes later, the two men had settled themselves at a table. Soon they were sharing a bottle of tequila, the fiery liquid burning a trail down Methos' throat into his gut. Yes, this place might do nicely.

"You'll be looking for work."

Methos nodded. "Know of any?"

"I might do." He took a slug from his glass. "You any good with horses? Cattle?"

"Both."

"That might work," he said mostly to himself. Then he turned his attention back to the newcomer. "The Widow Black has a place a few miles west of town. Good sized spread. She runs cattle and breeds horses."

"Is she looking for a hand?"

Jenkins chuckled. "Not exactly." At Methos' look of inquiry, he explained, "She's a stubborn one; runs the place with just her and a passel of young ones."

"And you don't approve?" Methos asked dryly.

He looked surprised at that. "What? No, I admire the woman, but she hasn't the sense God gave her some days! Ran off the last hands she hired and the ones before that decided they didn't want to work that hard," he explained. "A lot of men think a widow with kids will be an easy touch; the first thing they're thinking is how to get her land from her. But Pearl's nobody's fool."

"So it would seem," he agreed.

"She has a cousin over in Four Corners - town about an hour north of her ranch - who checks in on her, but I doubt that young man has ever put in an honest day's work in his life," he said somewhat disapprovingly. "What she needs is a full time ranch hand, more than one, truth be told. But you have to start somewhere." The sigh he let out was part exasperation, part resignation.

Methos chuckled at the sheriff's obvious frustration with Mrs. Black.

"The thing is, her oldest girl Jemma is marrying my boy Jeremy in the spring, so Pearl's practically family. It's my place to look out for her." _Whether she likes it or not_ wasn't verbalized, but it was as plain as if he'd spoken the words.

"Fair enough. But what makes you think I'm any more trustworthy than the previous holders of the post?"

"I'm a good judge of men, Mr. Adamson. You're not a drifter; your horse and gear are too fine. You carry yourself like a man who has made something of himself."

Methos threw back the rest of the tequila in his glass, considering. He did need work if he was going to settle in for the foreseeable future, and being a ranch hand to a widow wasn't a bad situation. "I'll admit, Sheriff Jenkins, I am intrigued."

"I hoped you would be," he replied, obviously relieved. "But be forewarned, she might be a bit tetchy you showing up. Pearl'll take some sweet talking to take you on."

"Have no fear, Sheriff, sweet talking is my specialty!" Methos poured more tequila into their glasses and the two men toasted to stubborn women and warmer winters.  


@_______________________________________@

  


 

**Entry tags:** |    
[charlotte sparrow](http://ithildyn.livejournal.com/tag/charlotte+sparrow), [duncan macleod](http://ithildyn.livejournal.com/tag/duncan+macleod), [ezra standish](http://ithildyn.livejournal.com/tag/ezra+standish), [fic](http://ithildyn.livejournal.com/tag/fic), [fic: highlander](http://ithildyn.livejournal.com/tag/fic:+highlander), [fic: magnificent seven](http://ithildyn.livejournal.com/tag/fic:+magnificent+seven), [fic: xover/au](http://ithildyn.livejournal.com/tag/fic:+xover/au), [methos](http://ithildyn.livejournal.com/tag/methos), [series: 'aces immortal'](http://ithildyn.livejournal.com/tag/series:+%27aces+immortal%27), [series: 'echoes the sea'](http://ithildyn.livejournal.com/tag/series:+%27echoes+the+sea%27)  
  
---|---


	2. Stubborn Women and Warmer Winters

  
Methos made his way west to Rancho Caballo Rojo. According to Hank Jenkins' directions, he should almost be there. A fence line had appeared a few minutes before and next should be the entrance to the road leading to the Black place. The gentle murmur of the Rio Grande floated around him, and the sharp light of the autumn sun warmed his face. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and allowed himself to relax, his horse setting the pace.

It would be good to stay in one place for a time; even if it was just for a winter. He'd left 'Doctor Benjamin Adams' behind a few years ago, and was still in that place where he didn't feel quite right in his skin; comfortable in this new persona. 'Matthew Adamson' needed to gather some moss to do that, which meant this rolling stone needed to rest.

Absently he wondered if the Widow Black was a pretty woman. Though, if she had a daughter old enough to marry, and had lived the hard life of a settler, a woman alone, she was probably as stark and weathered as the junipers that dotted the landscape around him.

The sound of voices interrupted his idle musings of women and just who 'Matthew' might end up being. Not much more time passed 'til he discovered the source of those voices: two boys clearing brush on the other side of the fence line he'd been following. They most likely were part of the 'passel of young ones' Sheriff Jenkins had mentioned. The boys caught sight of Methos as he drew even with them. The older one, who looked to be about sixteen, stepping in front of the younger boy, gave Methos a cautious, but not unfriendly, look.

"Howdy, mister."

Methos touched the brim of his hat. "Matthew Adamson," he introduced himself.

"Timothy Black," the boy replied. "My brother, Jess." He jerked his chin towards the younger boy who was peering around his brother's shoulder.

"Pleased to meet you." Methos dismounted, walking over to the fence. "Sheriff Jenkins says your mother's looking for a ranch hand." The boys snickered and gave each other a look. "Well, that's not exactly right; what I believe he actually said was your mother _needs_ a ranch hand," he amended with a grin.

"Mama's going to be in a right state when she hears that," Timothy told him with a matching grin.

"So I gathered from the sheriff. But I'm up to the challenge," he assured them. Methos was fairly certain the two boys would be placing bets on his chances of success with their mother. Matter of fact, so would he.

They climbed over the fence. "We'll walk you up; it's only about another mile." Timothy waved his arm behind him.

"I'm much obliged, gentlemen. Lead the way!"  


@_______________________________________@  


  
Methos spent a pleasant half hour with the two brothers as they led him to the house - and his meeting with the inimitable Widow Black. Along the way, he'd learned that there were six children altogether, from Jemma, the oldest, to little Constance, the baby of the family at age two. And that they'd come here to New Mexico from Virginia ten years prior. It was also patently obvious that the boys held an abiding admiration for their mother, and that they were part of a close and loving family.

A long low adobe style ranch house appeared as they turned a bend in the road, and Jess, who it turned out was nearly fourteen, ran ahead to tell his mother they had company. Methos laughed at something Timothy told him, actually finding himself looking forward to what the future might bring, when his mood was shattered by the discordant peal of another Immortal's presence. Inwardly cursing his foul luck, he slowed, a hand drifting up the side of his horse to where his sword was stowed. Ever so casually, he pulled back his long duster, making sure his revolver was within easy reach.

He heard young Jess's excited voice ring out, "Mr. Adamson's come all the way from Wyoming Territory, mama! But he said we could call him Matthew! And he knows all about horses!"

Then she was there, standing on the porch, a shotgun in one hand, her other hand holding Jess back. Her expression was one of set determination as she stepped out into the open. Methos' eyes met hers and recognition dawned.

"It can not be," she whispered, taking one step, then another, handing the shotgun to Timothy as he came to stand next to her.

"Mama?" he queried, alert to the change in mood and instantly on guard. As the oldest boy, he was the man of the family, and took his duty very seriously.

"All is well, Timothy," she reassured him gently, squeezing his arm. "Mr. Adamson and I are acquainted."

For once, Methos wore no mask. The genuine joy he felt was wreathed plainly across his face. "Your mother and I were good friends once upon a time," he told the boys who were looking back and forth between the two adults. "We have not seen each other for many years."

For a moment, Charlotte stood perfectly still, as if she were afraid Methos might disappear like some desert mirage. Then she was running across the space between them and into his arms. Spinning her around, they both laughed until they were breathless.

As he set her on her feet, Charlotte reached up, touching his face. "Is it really you, Methos?" she asked in a whisper.

"It is, dearest Charlotte."

"Then my prayers truly are answered."  


@_______________________________________@

  
_San Luis Obispo, Present Day_

"It really is a small world," Duncan commented with a slightly dreamy expression in his eyes. He always had been a sucker for tales of long lost lovers reunited.

"Isn't that the truth?" Charlotte was smiling with amused exasperation at Methos, who had begun to hum 'It's a Small World After All'.

"Stop!" Duncan demanded.

"What?" Methos asked, all innocence.

Duncan sighed, rolling his eyes. "What," he muttered.

Methos just chortled before launching into an even louder rendition. But Charlotte's lips on his brought an abrupt end to his musical serenade.

"Stop!" she repeated Duncan's admonition, giggling.

"You had only to ask," Methos replied archly before kissing her back.

Smiling fondly, Duncan gave them a moment, then said, "I have a feeling you two would like to do some catching up."

"Brilliant deduction, Mac!"

"I see the passing years have done nothing to temper the more aggravating facets of your personality," Charlotte observed, lips twitching with suppressed laughter though she did her best to sound disapproving.

"If only," Duncan responded in a similar tone, though he didn't seem to really mean it either.

"Hey, you don't mess with perfection!" Methos protested, sweeping out his arms in a grand gesture.

"Please, take him away," Duncan implored Charlotte. "Then maybe I can get some work done without his constant complaints and nitpicking."

She laughed. "Fine, I will, but you owe me one, Mr. MacLeod," she told him with a mischievous gleam in her eye.

"Anything!" Duncan agreed in mock desperation.

"Oh, yes, you two are very funny," Methos informed them, taking Charlotte's hand and pulling her to her feet. "You're just lucky I'm a very mellow and easygoing guy."

Duncan snorted. "Yeah, aren't we just?"  


@_______________________________________@

  
Duncan had said he'd walk them out to the parking lot. As they exited the imposing oak doors of the tasting room, he realized it was much later than he'd thought. The late afternoon sun lay across the hills like a golden blanket, and above them, a slender pale crescent of the moon peeked out. In the distance, fingers of fog could be seen creeping up from the coast. Duncan took a moment to soak it all in, letting Methos and Charlotte walk ahead hand in hand. This was his life now and he intended to enjoy it.

As they made their way down the path, Charlotte looked back at Duncan. "There's something I should tell you." Both men looked at her in surprise at the unexpectedly serious tone.

"Something wrong?" Methos asked, concerned.

She shook her head as she came to a halt. "No, nothing's wrong." She glanced over at Methos briefly before returning her attention to Duncan. "We aren't the only Immortals in the area. I just thought you should know."

Methos threw his head back in exasperation. "See? What did I tell you? Immortal wine of the month club," he muttered.

"What?" Charlotte asked, perplexed.

"Never mind," Methos grated out.

"Ignore him," Duncan advised. "I do." The last was said with a smirk.

A small smile ghosted across Charlotte's lips. "I've always found that to be the best policy," she admitted.

"If you two are quite finished?" Methos asked pointedly. "I believe you were telling us about the neighbourhood?"

She shot an irritated look at Methos, before explaining, "Ezra Standish. He has a house on my property. I helped raise him as a child; he's family."

Methos made an unintelligible noise deep in his throat. "Ezra's here?"

She nodded sharply, and then fixed her gaze on Duncan. "I would take it personally should there be any _misunderstandings_." There was steel lining the soft measured tones of her simple statement.

Duncan wasn't offended by her warning. After all, she didn't really know him, and had no idea what his boundaries were. "Don't worry, Charlotte, I'm not in the habit of challenging other Immortals without cause. Maybe you could introduce us?"

"I can do that," she said, obviously relieved. "I'll call you and arrange for a day next week. I can show you around and introduce you to people you'll need to know."

"I'd appreciate that."

Sounding out of sorts, Methos asked, "Maude's not lurking around as well, is she?"

"Not currently, no," she replied tightly.

"Maude?" Duncan asked curiously.

"Think Amanda, but with fewer moral qualms, an ace up her sleeve, and a Derringer in her garter," Methos instructed the other man. "Lovely woman." The sarcasm could have been cut with a knife.

"Ezra's adoptive mother and my former student," she answered, ignoring Methos.

Methos muttered, "Babes in the woods," under his breath.

Charlotte glared at Methos, having heard his quiet deprecation. "I was old enough that she's managed to keep her head for nearly two centuries!" she snapped.

Methos' laughter rang out. "Considering I probably have shoes older than you, that isn't saying much, is it?"

Duncan didn't know Charlotte Sparrow well, but he recognized an impending eruption when he saw one. This was obviously a long standing bone of contention between the two. Not that he didn't sympathize. When Methos used that supercilious tone, the one that implied you were just a wee bit simple, it was hard to keep your cool. God only knew how many times Duncan had been tempted to pop Methos on the nose since they'd known each other.

Attempting to divert her, he shot Methos a look before saying in a soothing voice, "Taking on a student is a huge responsibility. It's a credit to you to have accepted that burden so young."

Some of the fire in her ice-blue eyes dimmed. Crossing her arms across her chest, she said, "I might not have been that old, but there was no one else. She needed me, and I did the best I could."

Nodding, Duncan squeezed her shoulder. "That's all any of us can do."

"Thank you," she replied softly. "After Ezra's first death, he needed a teacher as well." Her eyes flashed a challenge at Methos. "I'd made sure that he'd been tutored in swordsmanship when he was growing up, hoping to give him as much of an edge as possible when the time came."

"You must care about him very much," Duncan said.

"I do. He has been the light of my life since he was five years old." The love in her voice was evident for all to hear.

"He isn't five anymore," Methos reminded her acidly.

Duncan saw the look in the other man's eyes. Was that a flare of jealousy he'd seen before the well practiced mask fell once more? Curiouser and curiouser.

Charlotte seemed to have decided to pay no attention to Methos. "Thank you for your hospitality this afternoon. I enjoyed lunch and getting to know my new neighbour." The smile she gave Duncan was brilliant in its warmth, lighting up her face, and he thought that Methos was a very lucky man indeed. Whether the oldest Immortal appreciated that or not remained to be seen.

"Thank you for being so generous with your time and letting me pick your brain," Duncan responded. "I really appreciate it."

"Anytime." Then she turned her attention to Methos, the warm expression of moments before now frosty. "Are you coming home with me, or staying here?"

"What do you think?" was the curt reply.

Sniffing, she tossed her shoulder length black hair back. "I was under the impression that I didn't think at all, so I am sure I don't know."

"Charlotte--" Methos began.

She interrupted whatever he was going to say. "I'll see you next week, Duncan." With that, she spun on her heel, striding purposefully towards her truck.

"Later, Mac," Methos muttered as he set off after her.

"Later," Duncan replied, wondering as he walked back to the winery, just which of the two was going to win the forthcoming battle.  


@_______________________________________@

  



	3. This Is Our Time

  
"Charlotte!" Methos caught up to her as she reached her truck. Disregarding him completely, she pulled keys from her purse. Taking her shoulder, he pulled her around to face him. "Don't do this!"

"Do what?"

"You know what!"

"What the hell do you want from me, Methos?" she demanded.

He arched one eyebrow. "I would have thought _that_ was obvious."

She practically hissed, and would have hit him if he hadn't anticipated her, grabbing her wrists and pushing her back against the side of the truck.

"You don't get to do this, Methos! Not anymore. You were the one who left!"

"Do what? Act like a jealous lover?" He pressed his body against hers, his free hand skimming up her thigh to rest on her hip. He inhaled her scent. She still smelled the same: cinnamon, roses, with a touch of lemon.

"You forgot to add 'former' to that," she shot back, slightly breathless.

He shook his head, releasing her wrists. "No, I didn't," he whispered into her ear. Lips nuzzled the spot just behind her ear and he smiled as she shivered under his touch.

"Methos…."

"Shhhh," came the soft command as his fingers slipped up into her hair, holding her face where he could see it. "I want to look into your eyes when I kiss you."

She didn't dispute his intention, her hands skimming across his chest, coming to rest on his shoulders, pulling him closer. He kept his eyes locked on hers as his lips settled over hers, softly at first, tasting her again for the first time in so long. So close, her eyes were like looking down into the blue depths of a glacier. But it was warmth that those eyes radiated, not cold; Charlotte's eyes were never cold. Even when she'd been furious with him, Methos had always been able to depend on what he'd see in her gaze when she looked at him.

Sighing against his lips, she pressed into him, their bodies remembering what it had been like when they'd been together. Her hands slipped up to tangle in his short hair, pulling him closer. They kissed until neither of them could breathe, as they had so many years before….

 

_Doña Ana, New Mexico Territory ~ Autumn, 1866_

Charlotte had sent the two boys off to stable Methos' horse, before leading him into the tiled foyer of her home. White plaster walls rose up to meet a beamed ceiling of dark wood, with wrought iron candle sconces set at intervals around the room and down the halls leading away from the entry. The sweet smell of something baking, mixed with the scent of fresh bread and wood smoke drifted around them, teasing the senses.

Methos looked around the Spanish style room, recognizing some of the pieces of art that adorned the walls from Charlotte's former home in South Carolina. The heavy ironbound oak door closed with a soft thunk behind him, and at the sound, he turned back to look at the woman he hadn't seen in more than fifty years. The last time he'd seen Charlotte, she'd been dressed in mourning, grieving for her husband of forty-eight years. He'd let her walk away into the twilight then, knowing that the young Immortal needed to stand on her own two feet, no matter how much it had hurt to let her go. But now he'd found her again, and in the most unlikely place he could have imagined.

"Pearl Black," he said with a soft chuckle. "If I'd been thinking, I would have realized."

She gave him in impish smile, her eyes incredibly blue, the colour accentuated by the finely dyed dress she wore. It was as if someone had matched the cloth to her eyes. "Jack would have been amused. When I decided to revert to my maiden name, Pearl just seemed too perfect not to use."

"And the children took the name as well?"

"It was prudent at the time we left Virginia to take on new identities," was all she said by way of agreement.

Methos decided to wait until later to press her for details. "I never expected to find you living so far from the ocean," he said instead.

"It was a stop on our way to California. There was just something about this place that made me want to stay, to settle down. It has a special magic, I think." She reached out, taking his hand in hers. "I can't believe it's really you," she said softly, looking up into his eyes.

He stroked her cheek with his free hand, pulling her closer with the other. "It really is. And this time, you won't be rid of me so easily," he told her, his voice warm and full of promise. As she nodded, he leaned down, taking her lips in his, doing something he'd wanted to do for so very long.

In all the years they'd known each other, they'd never been intimate, neither willing to betray the man that was her husband and his best friend. He'd always imagined what she would feel like, her skin against his, what she would taste like when their lips met. It was finally their time, a century and several lifetimes away from the pirate ship in the Caribbean where he'd first set eyes on her.

Her hands slipped up his shoulders, tentatively at first, before coming to rest behind his neck, her fingers tightening as he deepened the kiss. He could feel the steady beat of her heart against his chest, the warmth of her body as she melted into him. It was just as he'd imagined so many times, on so many nights. Except this time, it was real.

A voice from behind them broke the moment. "Yǎng mu?"

Charlotte pulled away, blushing a little at the interruption. Methos turned to see an elderly Asian man standing behind them, leaning on a cane with one hand, a revolver in the other.

"Charles, all is well," she said reassuringly, swiftly going to his side and gently taking the gun from his shaking hand. "He's an old friend."

The man nodded. "I was concerned." He cast a suspicious glance at Methos

"I'm sorry." Her voice was full of self-reproach. "I should have let you know right away." She leaned her cheek against his. "Forgive me?"

"It's all right. You know I worry."

"I know you do." She looked over at Methos. "Matthew, this is Charles Lee. Charles, this is Matthew Adamson." The two men nodded at each other. Then she looked back to Charles, placing her palm against his chest, a concerned look on her face. "Have you taken your tonic today?"

Suddenly, the elderly man looked more like a small child being scolded by his mother. "Yǎng mu--" he began plaintively, only to be interrupted by Charlotte.

"Don't even start!" she ordered sternly. "You know what Nathan said, you need to take it every day for your heart."

His face twisted into a grimace of revulsion. "It tastes wretched."

"Then I suggest you chase it with some of that single malt whisky Ezra snuck to you last week."

Methos almost laughed out loud at the guilty expression that flashed across the man's face. Even without him calling Charlotte 'adopted mother', it would have been obvious to Methos that he had known Charlotte since he was a child. Their interaction left no doubt to that. Yet another story he would need to get her to tell.

"You didn't think I knew about that, did you?" she asked with a grin before kissing him on the cheek. "_*Chong ér_, my dear love, I raised both of you, remember? You two would have to get up very early in the morning to put something past me."

The man sighed, a smile tugging his lips. "I'll take the tonic."

"And then take a nap," she directed. "I mean it!"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, giving into the inevitable. "Oh, and Constance is napping with Rufus under the kitchen table," he added. "I will see you at supper." He turned around, leaning on his cane, and then headed down a hallway to his left, disappearing from sight.

"Rufus? Which child is that?" Methos ran through the names the boys had mentioned on their walk to the house.

"The four legged one," Charlotte informed him with a laugh. "Rufus was a puppy I got about the same time I adopted Constance. She seems to think she's a dog herself most days, insisting on sleeping with him in his favourite places. They're inseparable."

Taking his hand, she led him down the hall towards the back of the house, soon coming to a large kitchen. The wide rectangular room was dominated at one end of a huge fireplace, and at the other by a cast iron stove. From the ceiling beams hung strings of peppers of all kinds, along with bunches of herbs and garlic. A long wooden plank table sat in the middle of the room, surrounded by a variety of chairs and benches. Charlotte pointed underneath the table, and Methos looking, saw a small blonde-haired girl sound asleep curled on a blanket, her arms around a large sleeping dog of some indeterminate breed. He chuckled at the sight, shaking his head at the odd assortment Charlotte had collected.

Methos sat his hat on the table, sinking down into one of the chairs. He gratefully accepted a warm wet cloth from Charlotte, glad to be able to finally wipe off some the dust from the trail. Sitting down in the chair next to him, she handed him a cup of coffee. He took a sip, closing his eyes in pleasure as the hot liquid slid down his throat. "A little sugar, a bit of cream; just the way I like it."

She put her hand over his on the table, squeezing it gently. "Jemma should be back with the rest of the children soon. They took the wagon to town for supplies. Jemma volunteered so she could visit her beau," she said, her voice tinged with amusement. "Young love."

"Sheriff Jenkins mentioned she was engaged to his son."

"Ah, so that's why you showed up here looking for work!" She laughed good-naturedly. "Hank seems to think I need looking after. Though truth be told, he's not the only one."

"He seemed genuinely concerned," he pointed out.

"Despite what Hank likes to think, I'm perfectly capable of running my ranch! And it's not as if I do it all alone. I have the boys, and friends from Four Corners who help when I need it. I manage."

"You've built quite the life for yourself here," he offered quietly.

"I have. And I am grateful for what God has given me." She stood, walking over to the stove. Picking up a folded towel, she opened the oven door and removed a pie, placing it on a nearby sideboard to cool. Closing the oven, she asked, her back still to Methos, "Will you stay for long?" She sounded uncertain.

"Do you want me to?"

She shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself. Finally, she said, "Yes."

"Charlotte, look at me," he commanded softly.

Slowly, she turned, still clutching the towel in her hand. But she didn't look at him.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"I don't know," she whispered. "I've wanted this for so long, and now that you're here, I suppose it doesn't seem quite real. And this is much more than you bargained for when you showed up here looking for work."

He stood, holding his hands out to her. After a moment's hesitation, she took a step towards him, then another, finally taking the extended hands in hers. "This is our time, Charlotte," he told her. "Finally, this is our time. All those years I watched over you, and loved you, but could never have you. My feelings haven't changed." He moved both her hands into one of his, using the other to grasp her chin gently, forcing her to look at him. "Have yours?" He knew that was a possibility. There could be someone else. Charlotte was a beautiful woman and he didn't delude himself into thinking she'd been pining for him all these years.

"No, they haven't. But my life is complicated." She pulled from his gentle hold, turning away. "Maybe too complicated for you."

"I can handle complicated," he assured her, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her against him. She leaned into him, sighing when he kissed the side of her neck.

Turning in his arms, she looked up at him, searching his eyes. Seeming to reach some sort of decision, she nodded. "I'll remind you of that."  


@_______________________________________@

 

_San Luis Obispo, California ~ Present Day_

Once again, Methos was sitting in her kitchen. Nearly one hundred and fifty years later, and it was as if nothing had changed. But that wasn't true -- everything had changed. She handed him a mug of strong black tea, perching against the edge of the kitchen table next to him with a mug of her own. In the quiet, she could hear the cuckoo clock in the hall ticking, and from the woodstove, the crackle of logs burning. In the distance, the sound of the surf pounding the cliffs echoed across the canyon. The sun, on its journey down the western horizon, lit the room in soft orange and pink light.

The drive back to the house had been accomplished mostly in silence, both of them seeming content to not rush this long awaited reunion. She'd given him a tour of the vineyard, the winery, and the house. But now they were finally here, Charlotte found herself falling back on small talk.

"Have you known Duncan long?"

He glanced up at her. "About fifteen years, give or take."

"How did you meet?"

"Honestly? I was working for the Watchers." His lips curled into a smug grin. "Adam Pierson, mild mannered grad student and researcher."

She laughed. "Mild mannered? You? You're a better actor than I thought!" Then she gave herself a moment to think about just what that meant. He'd been a Watcher. Biting her lip, the laughter fell away. "Methos--"

"I didn't know where you were; the last entry in your Chronicle was St. Louis, 1827. The final one for both you and Maude actually," he answered her unasked question. He suddenly looked a little sheepish. "I will admit, I did try and use Ezra's Chronicle to track you down in the beginning."

"Oh?"

"But when I read that he was supposedly at a Tibetan Monastery, contemplating nature, I realized the Watchers had been had; and by their own." He grinned. "Then I read his entire Chronicle, and it only confirmed my suspicions. It was fact mixed with healthy doses of absolute fiction, starting with the account of his First Death."

Charlotte grinned cheekily. "It all worked out rather well." Then more seriously, she asked, "But you never said anything?"

Methos snorted. "The Tanners are an old and respected Watcher family. Even if I'd wanted to, lowly researcher Adam Pierson wasn't in a position to challenge them."

"But you didn't want to?" There was a soft note to her voice.

"I was hardly one to cast stones," he explained, "considering I'd joined up with the Watchers to research myself, and make sure I was never found."

"It isn't easy being a myth," Charlotte offered sympathetically.

"No kidding! He reached out, laying a hand on her thigh. "I always liked Vin, and realized what must have happened. It was well done for him to take on the job of Ezra's Watcher; to protect him and you. I'm grateful for what he did for you both, and to his descendants for continuing their charge."

Charlotte fought back tears, brushing at her eyes. "He was a good man and a cherished friend; he was family. I could have loved him no more had he been my own son."

She took a moment to compose herself before asking, "So you stopped looking?"

He nodded. "I didn't want to draw suspicion to the Tanners, and there were things happening within the Watchers that made me decide it was safer for you to let sleeping dogs lie.

"Thank you," she said. "I don't know if I could have been so restrained had our positions been reversed," she admitted.

"You would have done the right thing," Methos told her firmly.

"I hope so." She sounded doubtful.

"And you!" Methos tried to lighten the tone of their conversation. "You've done an excellent job of keeping under the radar." She almost thought she caught a note of pride in his words.

"I never liked the idea of being spied on, you know that. Though I can't take all the credit; Maude was an excellent teacher when it came to just how to effectively disappear." Smiling, she added, "And I'll deny ever admitting that!"

He crossed a finger over his heart, returning her smile. "Is that your vineyard?" he asked, looking over at the triptych photograph that hung on the wall above the wine bar across from him.

Looking over her shoulder, she nodded. "Uh huh. It was a gift to celebrate the first anniversary of the winery about seven years ago."

"It's beautiful." He stood, walking around the table to get a closer look. It was a panorama of the vines, tule fog drifting across them like a soft blanket, the watery late autumn sun fighting past its cover to delicately light the wintering branches. He peered closer at the signature. "Edward Sanbourne?" He sounded impressed. "You do keep rarified company these days," he said, looking back at her.

Charlotte choked back laughter with some effort. "Oh, yes, we're very close."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that a fact? And just how close are you?"

"Very." She pursed her lips, gripping the side of the table in an effort not to lose it. But at the look on his face, she couldn't hold back the mirth. She started giggling uncontrollably, setting her tea down before she spilled it all over herself.

Methos looked at her like she was insane. Struggling to catch her breath, she finally choked out, "Ezra. Ezra is Edward Sanbourne!" The stunned look on his face at her words only served to make her laugh even harder as she sank down into a chair holding her sides, certain she was going to pass out from laughter.

"Isn't that something?" he finally muttered, waiting for her to gather herself.

She nodded, taking a deep breath. "Even Maude can't deny that he has 'God given gifts' that aren't necessarily cons and cards."

"It seems I have a lot to catch up on."

"A bit," she agreed, finally getting a hold of herself. "You should try some of my wine, it's much better than Duncan's." She pointed to the already opened bottle in front of him.

"Modest, aren't we?" he asked, his eyes twinkling.

"Modestly is overrated," she opined. Watching as he poured, she added, "I wouldn't mind a glass myself."

"But of course, my lady," he said grandly, handing her a glass.

They toasted silently, each of them seeming lost in their own thoughts as they drank.

Then Methos sat next to her, putting down his glass and reaching out his hands. "Have you been happy, Charlotte?"

She didn't immediately reply, swallowing a large portion of the deep red liquid first. Finally, she set aside the glass. Taking the proffered hands, she briefly closed her eyes, remembering. "There is no happiness that does not come with grief."

"I'm sorry." There was no doubting the sincerity of those two simple words.

"Don't be," she told him, squeezing his hands. "I wouldn't trade the life I had after you left, no matter the pain it brought; because it also brought me love I would never have known."

"Your husband--' he began.

Charlotte wasn't surprised Methos knew about Chris; it was one of the factual accounts in Ezra's Chronicle. Vin's tribute to his best friend. She shook her head sharply. "Chris and I were very happy together in the short time that was given us. I was loved," she whispered, ducking her head and fighting back tears once more. "I loved."

"I came back, Charlotte, hoping to find you. I went to the ranch, but you were gone and Jemma and her husband were living there with their children. She told me that you and Chris had left New Mexico, had gone to California. I thought you were married and happy, so I left it alone. It wasn't till I read Ezra's Chronicle that I realized you'd been a widow at the time, and that Jemma had misled me."

Now Charlotte was crying; grief and loss overwhelming her with the memories Methos was resurrecting. He gathered her in his arms, comforting her with soothing words. She shoved her hand into her pocket, pulling out tissue and scrubbing at her eyes. "I'm sorry, I just wasn't prepared for all of this," she tried to explain."

"It's okay," he reassured her. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything."

"It's not your fault." Taking a firm grip on her emotions, she said, "Jemma told me on her deathbed what she'd done, that she'd lied to you. She did it out of love, wanting to protect me from being hurt again. She never forgave you for leaving." She pushed back the memory of what happened after Jemma's death. It had been one of the darkest periods in her life and right now, she wasn't strong enough to let herself remember.

"I can't blame her for that." He sighed. "I could lie; tell you I wish I hadn't left. But you and I both know that isn't true."

"We both did what we had to do. We made our choices. But that is the past; where do we go from here, Methos?"

"Where do you want to go, Charlotte? Because I swear to you that I will do whatever it takes to make it right this time."

"Third time's the charm?" she asked with a crooked smile.

"Something like that," he agreed, holding on to her as if she might slip away.

She exhaled softly, past, present and future swirling between them like so many ghosts. Husbands, lovers, children, friends, she saw them all. Here in the twilight, the memories wrapped around her like a thousand tendrils of silk.

Meeting his gaze, she lifted his hands, brushing his knuckles with her lips. Then she said, "What I want is to wake up tomorrow morning in your arms. What happens afterwards, I don't know, but for now, it's enough."

 

* _Chong ér - Favourite Son_  


@_______________________________________@

  



	4. Look What the Cat Dragged In

  
As quietly as possible, Ezra let himself into Charlotte's kitchen, desperate for coffee. The flight from London had been hellacious, and as he'd arrived home more than a week before he'd been expected, Charlotte's housekeeper hadn't restocked his larder. And so he found himself awake at this ungodly hour of the morning, jetlagged and in dire need of caffeine. Since his cousin always had a well supplied pantry, he knew he could get coffee beans, and hopefully something for breakfast as well. It was at times like these that he realized how fortuitous it was that he'd chosen to build his west coast residence on Charlotte's land, only a few hundred yards across the vineyard from her Victorian farmhouse. As much as he enjoyed the noise and excitement of Manhattan and his penthouse there, he was grateful for his home here, with nothing but the sound of the surf to lull him as he slept, and the comfort of family nearby.

He was pleasantly surprised at the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafting past him as he walked into the large, old-fashioned kitchen. But whoever it was that had made the coffee wasn't in evidence, the kitchen empty except for him. Since Charlotte didn't drink coffee, that must mean she had houseguests; most likely Tony or Ezra's mother. Lord, he hoped it was the former, because he was in no mood to deal with Maude. He cheered himself up with the thought that it must be Tony, since Maude would never be conscious at six in the morning, let alone up and making coffee. Truth be told, he doubted his mother even knew how to make coffee.

Taking a large mug from one of the hooks that ran along the back of the counter, he poured coffee into it, taking a grateful sip of the hot liquid. And now, to find something to eat. He was rummaging in the bread drawer when the wave of another Immortal presence washed over him. Taking out an English muffin, Ezra popped the two halves into the toaster, hearing approaching footsteps. "It's me, Charlotte; my trip to London was cut short," he called out.

But it wasn't Charlotte who entered the kitchen. "Well, God damn it--" he leaned against the counter, fixing Methos with an unfriendly smile, "--look what the cat dragged in…."  


@_______________________________________@

  
_Doña Ana, New Mexico Territory ~ Autumn, 1866_

Ezra was in an exceptionally fine mood, and couldn't wait to share his good news with Charlotte. Unlike his compatriots, he was certain she would be appropriately enthusiastic at him now owning his own saloon. It had been his dream for some time now, and she knew full well what it meant to him.

Whistling cheerfully, he tied his horse, Chaucer, to the hitching post in front of her hacienda, feeling her presence skim across his senses. But the smile on his face died as he turned, seeing not his cousin, but a stranger. The Colt Conversion revolver was in his hand with no conscious thought, pointing it at the tall, dark haired man who was standing on the steps of Charlotte's home. The man was dressed for ranch work, wearing faded dungarees, a pale blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a dark blue bandanna around his neck and well made, but worn, boots.

Cold fear gripped his heart; had this strange immortal murdered his cousin? "What have you done with Charlotte?" Ezra demanded, cocking the gun. "Tell me, you bastard!"

The man had a smug smile on his lips that made Ezra want to pull the trigger. "You must be the boy," he noted, sounding amused.

Ezra held his anger in check. "I will only ask once more; where is Charlotte?"

His answer came, not from the stranger, but from Charlotte herself, as she rounded the corner of the house. "Ezra!" She placed herself between the two men. "It's all right. Benjamin is a friend; I told you about him, remember? But he's Matthew now.

Ezra looked over her shoulder, studying the man from Charlotte's past, then back to his cousin, before holstering his weapon. "My apologies, Charlotte. When I found him here, with you nowhere in sight, I assumed…," he trailed off, unable to verbalize his fear that he had thought she might be dead.

She touched his hand. "I understand." He knew she wanted to embrace him, but she always endeavored to treat him as a grown man, and not the boy she'd helped raise, when they weren't alone. It was a consideration he appreciated.

"No apology necessary," Matthew said, coming to stand beside Charlotte. "Caution is what keeps you alive." He held out his right hand. "Matthew Adamson."

Ezra took the proffered hand, shaking it. "Ezra Standish."

"I am sorry, Ezra," Charlotte said apologetically. "When JD was here two days ago, he said you and Vin were transferring a prisoner from Eagle Bend. I didn't think you were to return till week's end. Otherwise I would have come to town to tell you about Matthew."

"We were. But our charge was possessed of incredibly poor judgment and attempted to escape our custody. The miscreant's aim was abominable, missing when he shot at Vin, but unfortunately for him, the opposite was not the case.

Matthew snorted at Ezra's explanation, a grin tugging at his lips. "I look forward to meeting Vin," he said. "Charlotte's told me about him; about all of you. I have to say that I have nothing but admiration for any man who can get Charlotte to accept help, let alone seven of you." He was grinning full out now, his hazel green eyes full of mirth, seemingly unconcerned that if looks could kill, he'd be quite dead now.

Ezra smothered a grin with some difficulty - no sense in having her peeved at him as well. Instead, he reached out a hand, pulling something from her black hair. "Charlotte, might I enquire as to just why you have--" he sniffed the item in his fingers, "--apples in your hair?"

Matthew guffawed as Charlotte put a hand up to her hair, glaring at her former teacher. Ezra, on closer inspection, realized that Mr. Adamson's clothes were streaked liberally with flour, and that there were more of what he could only assume was bits of apple, adorning Charlotte's hair, her butter yellow apron, and the sleeves of her pale green dress.

"Charlotte?" Ezra prompted when it appeared no answer was forthcoming.

She looked decidedly miffed, her pale blue eyes snapping. "He started it!"

"Now wait just a minute! Who exactly was the person who threw the pastry dough?" he protested.

"I was defending my honour!" She pouted. "He threw the apple pie filling," she accused.

Ezra felt as if he'd stepped into some sort of fever dream. "Was there some compelling reason for you to hurl your most excellent pastry at Mr. Adamson?"

"Yes!" She smacked Matthew on the arm.

"And that would be?" Ezra asked patiently.

When it became apparent Charlotte was not going illuminate him in regards to the reason for the food fight, Matthew explained, "I was merely recalling fond memories of our past. "

Charlotte snorted.

"Like the time I ate Charlotte's first attempt at a pie; if I hadn't been Immortal, it would have taken ten years off my life!"

Ezra dropped his head, grinning.

Charlotte was fit to be tied. "He refused to believe that I can cook now!"

Matthew was now laughing outright. "And then you threw pie dough at me!"

"It might be best if you did not malign Charlotte's pie baking skills to Mr. Tanner," Ezra advised with twinkling eyes. "He would more than likely feel compelled to call you out for the insult."

"Thank you, Ezra!" She took his hand. "_You_ can have a piece of apple pie."

Ezra gallantly kissed her hand, before letting it go. "Am I to take it that some of the ingredients made it into the oven and not all over you and Mr. Adamson?" he asked facetiously.

"Some of them did," Matthew replied cheekily, "but I'd still use caution if you plan on partaking." He caught her arm before she could walk away in a huff. Murmuring something in her ear that made her cheeks turn pink, he brushed his lips across hers. Then he said, "I need to see to the horses, so I shall see you later. Ezra." He nodded before walking towards the stable.

Ezra studied his cousin as she watched her old mentor stride away. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised, but still, it came as something of a shock as he realized that she was in love with the man.  


@_______________________________________@

  
_San Luis Obispo, California ~ Present Day_

"Standish," was all Methos said by way of response, putting sugar and cream in his mug, then pouring in coffee and stirring it. He took a long swallow before turning his attention to the younger Immortal. He was dressed in sweatpants, one of Charlotte's winery t-shirts, and running shoes, his short cropped dark hair standing in all directions. "You do have a gift for turning up unexpectedly."

"Since this is my home, I would say that it is you who have a penchant for unexpected appearances," Ezra replied sharply, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his Lucky Brand jeans.

He didn't respond, just took another swallow of his coffee. The toaster ejected the English muffin, unnoticed in the tense silence.

Finally, Methos said, "I suggest we play nice, for Charlotte's sake. I know neither of us wants to upset her."

"Do we really…Methos?" Ezra felt a surge of triumph as the others man's mouth tightened, his eyes taking on a glint. It was a weapon he should have probably kept in his arsenal for future use, but it was eminently satisfying to reveal to the subject of his ire that Ezra knew exactly who he was. "I distinctly recall a time when Charlotte's happiness was the furthest thing from your mind."

"You know nothing, Ezra," Methos bit out.

Ezra crossed his arms, flashing a condescending smile. "Is that what you think? You'd be surprised at just what I know."

Methos drew himself up to his full height. "Charlotte and I have ties going back a century before you were born, so don't even presume to think you know anything about our relationship, is that clear?"

"Would that be a threat?" He laughed coldly. "I picked up the pieces last time, and will again after you've toyed with her heart and walked away once more."

"Ezra! That is enough," Charlotte said firmly, walking into the kitchen with bare feet, looking like she'd just got out of bed. She was wearing the sapphire blue silk robe that Ezra had given her for Christmas, and her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail.

Ezra had felt her approach, but nothing he had said to Methos was anything he didn't think Charlotte should hear for herself.

"Don't trouble yourself, cousin, Methos and I were just getting reacquainted," he told her acidly.

She glanced at Methos, wincing a little at Ezra's brazen use of the ancient Immortal's real name. It would seem as if she had indeed neglected to mention to Methos just how much she'd confessed to Ezra about the man. Ezra felt a twisted sense of pleasure from that knowledge.

Sighing, she stood in front of him. "Ezra, please don't do this," she said, absently straightening the collar of his moss green linen shirt, a note of pleading in her voice.

"Don't what? Tell it like it is?" He forestalled Charlotte's response. "Never mind; I'll be going now."

Unexpectedly, Methos said, "No, I'll go. I'm meeting a friend for a run, then breakfast." He turned to Charlotte. "I'll be back later." He kissed her lightly, squeezing her arm before striding across the kitchen and out the door.  


@_______________________________________@

  



	5. What Family Is For

  
"I thought you were in London," Charlotte said quietly as she pulled the cozy off the teapot on the kitchen island, before pouring tea into a waiting mug.

"The subject of my shoot checked herself into rehab," he replied coolly, leaning against the large oak plank kitchen table. Before she could respond, he asked, "And just when exactly were you going to inform me of your joyous reunion?"

"Ezra--"

"There are these remarkable devices called cell phones; you may have heard of them?" he enquired mockingly.

"Stop it, Ezra! I will not discuss this with you in your present mood," she warned.

He ignored her. "And when would you like to talk about it?" he asked bitterly. "Before or after he destroys your life again?

"I do not owe you an accounting of my activities," she snapped, reigning in her temper with obvious effort.

He slapped the palm of his hand against the table, the sharp sound echoing around the quiet room. "How can you be so incredibly foolish, Charlotte?" His voice rose. "Surely he can't be that good in bed that you're willing to court the danger he brings to your life?" He was exasperated and he was angry and the words were out before he could stop them.

She paled, her knuckles white as she grasped the edge of the granite countertop. "You aren't a child anymore, Ezra, and I am longer required to put your happiness above my own. You can either accept Methos is a part of my life once more or you can leave," she said with a cold finality that left no doubt she was serious.

He laughed hollowly. "I choose the latter." Spinning on his heel, he stalked across the kitchen and out the door, slamming it behind him.

A cold wind was blowing off the ocean, chilling him as he took long strides across the field. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, feeling a sick gnawing in his gut that wasn't from hunger. He slowed, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, replaying it all in his mind. For a moment, he'd thought Charlotte was going to slap him. And maybe that would have been preferable to her telling him he could leave in that cold voice. This wasn't how it went; he and his mother fought like cats and dogs, and had for as long as Ezra could remember. But not Charlotte; he could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times they'd had serious words between them. He winced a little at what he'd said in the heat of anger.

He came to a stop, realizing he hadn't arrived home, but had ended up at the outlook instead. Sighing, he sank onto the redwood bench swing that overlooked the Pacific, burying his face in his hands. Oh how he wished he could start this day all over again and take back everything that had happened.

He wasn't sure how long he'd sat there, staring at the ocean, before he felt another Immortal presence.

A few moments after, Charlotte's voice said from behind him, "Is there room for me?" She came around the bench, holding a mug. She held it out to him. "You forgot your coffee." She'd dressed, wearing faded gray jeans, a pale blue cotton sweater, and roper boots.

Nodding silently, he took the mug from her, cradling it in his hands before taking a long swallow.

Sitting down on the grass at his feet, she put a hand on his knee, looking up at him pensively. "I'm sorry, Ezra."

"As am I, Charlotte. I wish I could blame the fact I haven't slept for thirty-six hours, or jet lag, for my abominable behaviour, but that would be a cop out."

"I don't even have that excuse," she said sadly. "I was spiteful and petty; I have never regretted a moment of the time you were with me when you were a child. I hope you can forgive me."

"You had every right to be angry, cousin. I was disrespectful in the extreme. I had no right to say the things I did." He felt his heart unclench, relieved that they were making amends.

"I hope you won't leave, Ezra, but I would understand if you did."

He chuckled. "If I left, who would make sure Methos treats you as a gentleman should?"

She joined his laughter. "Whom indeed?" She pulled her leg up underneath her. "It won't be like last time, I promise you. There is no social pressure in this age for us to marry for propriety's sake. We've made no commitments, nor do I have any expectations; a modern relationship, Ezra."

He leaned down, touching her face briefly. "And do you honestly think you can settle for that, Charlotte?"

"I'd rather have him for a few years than not at all."

Sighing, he asked, "You do realize you are setting yourself up for heartache?"

"Probably," she answered, a half smile twisting her lips. "Remember, I was raised in a time long before the expectation of true love or happily ever after. While my first marriage wasn't quite an arranged one, it was a match that pleased my father. Alejandro was a good man; he respected and cherished me, and I counted myself fortunate to have such a fine husband. But, Ezra, I was barely eighteen when we married. Any ideas I might have ever had of marrying for love were short lived ones."

Ezra laid a hand on her shoulder. "But you aren't eighteen anymore, dear Charlotte, and you deserve love."

"And I've had love! I have been married three times, and while the first was not a love match, you know I can not say that of my subsequent marriages. I loved Jack and Chris with all my heart, and they returned that love. I have been blessed, Ezra, truly, I have. And Methos does love me, though I realize you don't believe that." The last was said with no acrimony.

"I just want you to be happy."

"And I am, dearest. I have been alone for a very long time, and mostly, that hasn't bothered me. I have the love of family and friends; but there are times when I want more. Methos makes me happy, and I can love him, knowing that there is no inevitable grief that lies but a few short years in the future. I've buried too many that I have loved, Ezra." Layers of sadness touched her words.

Bowing his head, he nodded, unable to speak as memories of his own two wives overwhelmed him: a redheaded ingénue who sang like an angel on the Parisian stage, and a woman with sky blue eyes and the courage of a lion, talking their way past a Nazi checkpoint.

She got up from the ground, coming to sit next to him on the swing and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Dearest Ezra, I know how much you loved them both. And they loved you. They will be a part of you forever."

It shouldn't have surprised him that Charlotte knew exactly where his thoughts had gone. She'd always had an uncanny knack of seeing into his heart. And somehow, she always ended up being the one comforting him.

Returning her embrace, he asked, "And what about his past? How do you know�""

She stopped him. "It's a chance I am willing to take," she said firmly.

Shaking his head, he squeezed her arm. "I don't like it, but you were right, back at the house. I'm not a child any longer, and the last thing I would want is to be the reason once more that you were alone…"  


@_______________________________________@

  
_New Mexico Territory ~ Autumn, 1866_

Ezra followed Charlotte into her wood paneled study. "I was hoping you might join me tomorrow evening at the Standish Tavern for something of a grand opening celebration?"

"I wouldn't miss it!" she assured him. "I am so proud of you, Ezra." Reaching up, she kissed him on the cheek, placing the palm of her hand against his heart. "It was a remarkable accomplishment for you to put together the sum of money needed to secure the mortgage."

Ezra felt as if he might blush at her praise, and wondered if he would always sometimes feel as if he were an uncertain ten-year-old. Most likely, he decided with a rueful grin, watching Charlotte as she moved away.

Charlotte sat herself at the Chippendale double pedestal desk, taking out paper and pen. "I think this calls for a celebratory drink, don't you?"

"Indeed I do, cousin," he agreed, crossing the room to the bar and picking up a cut crystal decanter of whisky. He poured two measures into each of their glasses, while behind him, he could hear the sound of pen scratching against paper.

She stood as he came around the desk, accepting the glass he held out to her. "To happiness and success," she toasted.

Returning the toast, he clinked his glass against hers before taking an appreciative sip of the Highland Park eighteen-year-old single malt whisky. Charlotte truly did have an appreciation for the finer things in life; an appreciation she had instilled in him during their time together.

Setting down her glass, she picked up the paper she'd been writing on, handing it to Ezra. He looked down at it curiously, eyes widening as he realized it was a bank draft made out to him. "Charlotte," he protested, "I can not accept your money."

"Nonsense," she said briskly, refusing to take the draft back. "Come now, Ezra, are you going to tell me you haven't been seeking investors for your new enterprise?"

He sighed. "You know I cannot."

"So you will take their money, but not mine?" She arched a brow, waiting for his reply.

He had no idea how to answer in a way that didn't either insult her or grant the point in her favour. Charlotte could be every bit as difficult to deal with as Maude when the mood struck.

Realizing his quandary, she reached out and stroked his cheek. "Dear Ezra, I provide for all my children." She forestalled his response with a finger against his lips. "Let me finish, please." He nodded and she smiled at him fondly. "I know I am not your mother, but you are as dear to me as if you were a child of my own body. "

He dipped his head, her words touching his heart.

"I sent Cecily to art school in Paris, Jemma and Timothy will have this ranch when it is my time to move on, and Jess will most likely go to medical school. As the other children grow up, I will do my best to make their dreams a reality as well. You would not allow me to help you purchase the saloon; can you not at least accept my contribution as an investor? It is not a gift or a loan, it is strictly business. Remember all the times you would come with me to the shipping offices? There was a practical reason for that; I wanted to teach you the skills to run a business of your own one day. And I know my investment is in excellent hands."

He nodded, and then overwhelmed with emotion by her faith in him, he wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly. "You have given me so much that is worth far more to me than any amount of money, Charlotte," he said huskily.

She returned his embrace. "As have you, dearest; that is what family is for. Always remember that."

"I shall." He stepped away from her, trying to gather himself.

She realized he needed a moment, sitting back down at her desk to put away her writing supplies.

He took a few mouthfuls of his drink, the smoky warmth of the alcohol calming him. Idly he mused that maybe he actually owed Maude thanks for taking him from the orphanage when he was two. Without that event, he would have never known Charlotte. And while he'd always been grateful for her presence in his life, he was even more so now that he was Immortal. He knew how fortunate he was in having her as his teacher, and more importantly, her love. He turned his attention back to the object of his thoughts, realizing that she was singing softly to herself. He recognized the song as 'Shady Grove'.

_Peaches in the summertime  
Apples in the fall  
If I can't have the one I love  
I won't have none at all_

Shady Grove, my little love  
Shady Grove, my darling  
Shady Grove, my little love  
I'm going back to Harlan

Cheeks as red as the blooming rose  
Eyes of the prettiest brown  
You are the darling of my heart  
Love me when the sun goes down

Seemingly unaware of his scrutiny, she continued to sing, a look of contentment on her face and a soft smile on her lips. Ezra couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his cousin quite so happy. It didn't take any great leap for him to realize that Matthew Adamson was the reason for her blissful mood.

He thought back to his childhood; surely Charlotte had been in love at some point during the years she'd been his guardian? He remembered fine gentlemen calling at the house, and his fear that she'd marry one of them and he'd be cast aside, his presence not welcomed by her new husband. Just the way it had been with several of Maude's husbands. And then he would be alone and unwanted once more.

He had to know. "Charlotte," he said quietly.

"Yes, Ezra? she asked, looking up at him.

"Will you answer me a question honestly?"

"I am not on the habit of answering you dishonestly," she chided gently.

"My apologies, cousin, I did not mean to imply that; only that you have a tendency to couch your answers in ways that would not damage my feelings."

"Is that so? Then I shall endeavour to crush your spirit more often in future," she said wryly.

"Very amusing, Charlotte."

She smirked, waving him on to ask his question, before taking a sip of her scotch.

"Were you alone all the years I was growing up for my sake?" He watched intently for a clue as to her answer.

Cocking her head, she replied lightly, "Don't be silly! I just felt that Maude had been married quite enough for the both of us."

"Charlotte!" he said in exasperation. This was exactly what he'd meant.

Dropping her eyes, she looked down into the amber liquid she swirled in her glass and sighed. "Oh, Ezra, it really isn't as you might think. Yes, you did play a part in the choices I made, but that's what a parent does. I knew how many of your mother's marriages distressed you, and didn't want to be the cause of yet more emotional upheaval in your young life."

He was saddened by her answer, as much as he'd suspected what it might be. His upset must have been obvious, Charlotte coming up to him and placing her hands on either side of his face.

"Ezra, listen to me; there is nothing for you to feel guilt over. I swear to you that there was no one that I loved enough to consider marrying, and that is the truth."

He took her hands in his, kissing the back of one hand, before leading her over to the divan in front of the fireplace and sitting down. "How can I not feel regret that I was the cause of you spending so many years alone?"

Sighing in exasperation, she took his wrist in a firm grip, shaking it a little. "Stop it! You were not the reason. I told you I would answer you honestly, and I have."

He looked into her eyes. "What about Mr. Beamish?"

"Ellery?" She laughed. "You remember him, do you?"

"He wanted to send me to military school," he said dryly.

Ezra had been twelve when Ellery Beamish had started calling on Charlotte, and he had loathed the man. He was wealthy, charming, and very handsome; something the man was well aware of. Ezra had been convinced that Charlotte would marry him, and he still remembered eavesdropping on them the evening Beamish had proposed to his cousin. Ezra had thought his entire world was about to be destroyed. But then a miracle had happened; Charlotte had declined his offer of marriage.

"Yes, well, considering the campaign you waged against the man, I suppose we can't entirely blame him for that, now can we?" Her eyes were twinkling and she smothered a laugh at the look of consternation on Ezra's face.

"You knew?" he demanded.

"Of course I did, dearest! I warrant I was aware of most of what you got up to, even if I very often let you think I was an oblivious grownup."

Ezra groaned, thinking back on all the things he had gotten away with and wondering which ones Charlotte had indeed known about.

Charlotte giggled. "Don't look so appalled; you were a mischievous and bright little boy. It wouldn't have been normal for you not to have tried to test your limits. And sometimes, that meant I stepped back and let you fly or fall on your own.

"So which of my childhood transgressions were you aware of?" he asked curiously.

"Now that would be telling," she said, looking thoroughly amused. "You shall just have to live with the mystery!" She patted his leg. "However, in the case of Mr. Beamish, let us just say I used the opportunity as a test, if you like. A test he failed miserably. You did me a great favour; I would not marry any man who could not love my children."

He felt a wave of relief sweep over him at her assurances. "I am glad to have been of service, Charlotte."

"And really, while he was very handsome, he was rather a bore. I shouldn't have been able to abide being married to such a man. You know, he ended up marrying that dreadful Henrietta Wilkinson, for her fortune of course. I heard they made each other quite miserable." She grinned wickedly. "A match made in heaven, I'm certain…."  


@_______________________________________@

  
_San Luis Obispo, California ~ Present Day_

"Now, Ezra, I was under the impression we'd resolved that erroneous belief of yours?"

He chuckled ruefully. "We did, but I will always feel some responsibility; though my gratitude far exceeds my guilt."

"You always were a stubborn boy," she said in fond exasperation.

"You do know what they say about glass houses, don't you?" he drawled.

She sniffed. "Fine! Be that way." Then she looked up at him. "Are we okay, Ezra?"

"Of course we are," he assured her. "In fact, why don't we all have dinner tonight at the saloon? Neutral ground; where Methos and I can prove to you that we can be out in polite company together."

She snorted with laughter. "You do have high expectations, don't you?"

"One must always have goals, cousin," he informed her breezily.

"If you insist; but I'm hiding all the steak knives!"  


@_______________________________________@

  



	6. I Never Kiss and Tell

  
It was a beautiful spring morning; the birds were singing, the fog had almost burned off, and the coffee was hot and plentiful. But Methos was one big storm cloud hanging over it all. The two men were sitting on the deck outside the kitchen with its view of the vines and the green hills beyond. Duncan had made omelets, serving them with fresh cantaloupe and strawberries. But Methos had mostly moved the food around on his plate.

Duncan watched his friend over the top of his mug as he drank his coffee, wondering what had Methos in such a mood. When he'd arrived earlier, they'd gone on their run, not spending much time talking. But once they were back at Duncan's place, he'd noticed that something had gotten under Methos' skin; the grunts in response to his questions had been the first clue.

He decided to try again. "It's been nearly a week, how are you and Charlotte doing?"

"Fine."

Well at least he was using words now; that was an improvement.

"Hadn't seen you in a few days, so I was hoping you hadn't ticked her off enough for her to kill you," he said, a smirk on his lips.

Methos rolled his eyes. "You wish."

"So you two are doing fine; then what's the problem?"

"Problem? Who says there's a problem?"

Duncan just gave Methos a look.

"Damn it, Mac, you know how it can be when you haven't seen someone in more than a century. The feelings are still there, but you have to make adjustments to being in the here and now and not the past." He slumped further down into his chair.

"Anything I can help with?" he offered.

Methos stared at him balefully. "You aren't going to offer relationship advice, are you?"

"Do you need some?" Duncan shot back.

Snorting, he shook his head. "As if." Then he seemed to come to a decision. "I ran into Ezra this morning."

Duncan was confused. "He lives nearby, right?"

Sighing, Methos took a swallow of coffee. "He does, but he's been in London the last ten days and arrived home unexpectedly."

"And he didn't know about you and--" he began.

"No, he didn't; Charlotte hadn't told him. She was working herself up to it."

"I take it he wasn't that happy to see you?"

"Now there's an understatement." He scrubbed a hand through his hair. "When I left her house, he and Charlotte…. Let's just say you could have cut the tension with a knife. I knew he wasn't going to be pleased I was back in her life, but I didn't realize just how much he'd hate the idea."

Duncan shook his head. "Is this going to be a problem?" Concern laced his words - challenges had been fought over much less.

"What?" He looked surprised at the question. "Absolutely not! We both love Charlotte and neither of us would ever…. No, that isn't going to happen."

"Glad to hear it." He poured more coffee into their mugs. "But it doesn't change the fact that you and Ezra need to work things out if you're planning on sticking around." He paused. "Are you?"

"If she'll have me." Methos smiled ruefully. "I want it to work this time, Mac."

Duncan grinned. "Glad to hear it, old man. So what's the plan? I got the feeling Charlotte thinks of Ezra as a son, and that sort of love is hard to come between."

"Honestly, Mac, I don't want to come between them. I know damned well how she feels about Ezra, and he feels the same way about her; they're family. This time, I'm the interloper; they have more history together now than Charlotte and I did back in New Mexico."

"But she loves you," Duncan pointed out quietly.

"And he despises me." He sighed explosively. "And you know what? He's perfectly justified. I mean, how would you feel about the man that practically left the woman you thought of as a mother at the altar?" Methos asked bitterly.

"You did what?" He sat up straight in his chair. That was something he hadn't been expecting.

"Don't start!" he warned. "It was about a week before the wedding; we were just waiting for the circuit judge to arrive. Charlotte understood why it had to be that way, but Ezra…. Well, he thought she was making excuses for me; in denial. Hell, maybe she was at that."

"Why did you leave?" he asked.

Methos looked at him sharply. "I had my reasons."

Nodding, Duncan had a thoughtful look on his face. "Eighteen sixty-seven," he said half to himself, suddenly having a pretty good idea of just what had compelled Methos to leave. But the closed look on his friend's face told him quite clearly that Methos was not open to discussing it further. So instead, he decided to change the subject. "Just how did you and Charlotte meet anyway?"

Methos laughed softly, his mood lightening. "She was my patient."

"How's that?"

"Seventeen sixty-one. She'd been injured at sea during a storm, and her ship seized by an old friend of mine, Jack, a pirate captain sailing under Letters of Marque from the Crown. I saved her life. And yes, I am well aware of the irony."

"Then what happened?" he asked curiously.

"She fell in love with Jack." He shrugged. "They were very happy for many years and she stayed with him till the day he died."

"But…?"

"What exactly is it you want to know, Mac?"

Duncan exhaled in frustration. Why did the man have to always make everything so difficult? "You and Charlotte; you were more than just friends, weren't you?"

Chuckling, Methos said, "Come on now, Mac, I never kiss and tell." Finally, he relented. "I was her friend, her teacher, and then, as the years passed, it became something more. But we never acted on it. She loved her husband and he was one of my best friends, and it wasn't as if we didn't have time," he finished with a note of sadness.

"How long were they married?"

"Forty-seven years."

"That had to have been hard for her; but at least she had you," Duncan offered sympathetically.

"Actually, she didn't." He laughed, but it was filled with regret. "Charlotte was grieving, and she asked me to let her go." He fell silent, looking out over the vineyard.

"And you did." It wasn't really a question.

"Does it surprise you that I could do something selfless?" There was an edge to his voice.

Duncan said gently, "Honestly? No, it doesn't." Methos flashed him a half smile. "And then you met again in New Mexico?"

"Nearly sixty years later, yeah." Methos stood up, walking over to the deck railing and leaning against it. "And do you know what surprised me most after I found her again?" He sounded irritated.

"No," Duncan replied, not sure where this was going.

"How she'd managed to keep her bloody head!" He threw his hands up. "You'd think she'd had you as a teacher," he grumbled. "It certainly isn't my influence that's responsible for her charitable impulses!"

Smothering a grin, he said, "That bad?" He fought to keep a totally innocent look on his face as Methos looked at him suspiciously. "What?"

He made a sound low in his throat, still looking suspicious. "Would you like to know the circumstances of just how she took her first head?" Duncan just nodded. "She wasn't the one who was challenged, oh no, not Charlotte. She went looking for a fight."

Now that did surprise him. Granted, Duncan had only a brief acquaintance to judge, but the woman he'd met a few days ago didn't strike him as the sort of Immortal who would casually challenge another. "So what happened?"

"She was in China and there was a boy being kept as a slave by one of us. The man had no quarrel with Charlotte, and from all accounts would have let her walk away without a fight. But when he refused to sell the boy to her, she challenged him." Methos sounded thoroughly disgusted.

"Imagine that," he said dryly.

"I know!" Methos took Duncan's statement at face value, so caught up in his story he didn't catch the note of facetiousness in his friend's response. "She took the boy in, schooled him, arranged for an apprenticeship and then a good marriage. By the time I met Charles in New Mexico, he was elderly and frail, but he told me the entire story of how he had ended up with Charlotte as a child." His eyes became unfocused, remembering. "It was then that I realized how close I came to never holding her in my arms again."  


@_______________________________________@

  



	7. Savour Every Moment

  
Ezra surveyed the early evening crowd at Standish &amp; Black from his seat at the table on the small raised platform at the back of the saloon. He was pleased at how many people seemed to be taking advantage of the Early Bird prix fixe menu they had instituted last month. All in all, business was very good; perhaps too good considering they were without a manager for the third week running. Sighing, he straightened the pile of applications on the table that were awaiting his perusal. It was time to fill the position; it wasn't fair to Charlotte, leaving her to take care of the day to day operations while he was traveling the world earning his livelihood. Charlotte had the winery, plus her duties overseeing her charitable trust, The Black Foundation. Managing the saloon was not what she'd signed up for as his business partner.

The Standish &amp; Black Saloon was a fixture in downtown San Luis Obispo, popular with both locals and tourists alike. Besides having a lively atmosphere with a well stocked bar, it featured a wine list that was one of the best in California, along with a menu that pleased everyone from the jaded gourmet to those looking for a pizza and beer on a Saturday night. And the outdoor patio area on Morro Creek was a popular hangout for Cal Poly students, with live music most weekends.

Ezra and Charlotte had purchased the rundown Spanish Colonial era building shortly after Charlotte had returned to the area to start Black Pearl Vineyards some eight years prior, and they had painstakingly restored it. Not only did it house the saloon, but a tasting room and shop for the winery and a gallery of 'Edward Sanbourne's' work. The two often held combined private events in the space for Charlotte's wine club members and enthusiasts of Ezra's photography.

He gazed around the saloon affectionately. The antique mahogany bar, with its gleaming brass fixtures dominated the room, and behind it, a shining mirror etched with the saloon's name and logo, lit by Tiffany shaded lamps. The adjoining dining room, with its heavy oak beamed ceiling, riverstone fireplace, Spanish ceramic tiled floor, and warm plastered walls, hummed with the conversation of the patrons seated there. In the corner, by the hearth, a musician played Spanish guitar, the sound of the music floating into the bar area. Ezra would miss this place when it was time to move on once more; but that time, God willing, was some years in the future. Until then, he intended to savour every moment.

His attention was drawn to the entrance by the ringing presence of another Immortal. While he was expecting Charlotte and Methos to arrive shortly for dinner, it would appear that the Immortal in question was the tall, broad shouldered man who had just walked in. He carried himself like a warrior, and his bearing alone marked him out as different from those around him. He was wearing light gray linen slacks and a cream coloured raw silk shirt, his brunette hair caught back in a neat neck-length ponytail. Ezra caught the man's eye, signaling for him to join him. As he crossed the room to climb the few stairs to the table, Ezra assessed the new arrival. _ It was almost too good to be true, but this had to be Amanda's mysterious longtime lover, _ he thought delightedly. Ezra and Amanda had something of a 'friends with benefits' arrangement over the last few decades, the other Immortal dropping in on Ezra in Manhattan when she was bored or at a loose end; or needed help stealing something. Charlotte had told him something about her new neighbour, Duncan MacLeod, including that he had moved here from Seacouver. And certainly Amanda had referred to him as 'the pigheaded Scotsman' often enough. How many Scots Immortals from Seacouver could there possibly be, after all?

Standing, Ezra held out his hand. "You must be Duncan MacLeod."

Duncan took the proffered hand, shaking it firmly. "And you must be Ezra Standish; I've heard a lot about you," he said with a friendly smile.

Ezra flashed a grin. "Oh, of that, I have no doubt. And it's Edward Sanbourne currently, but my friends call me Ez." He motioned Duncan to take a seat.

"Mac," he reciprocated. "Edward Zachary Sanbourne," Duncan queried, "the photographer?"

"One and the same." Ezra picked up the bottle of Highland Park at his elbow. "Drink?"

"Please." Waiting while Ezra poured, he said, "I'm a great admirer of your work. I own one of your originals in fact."

"Do you indeed?" He raised his glass to Duncan, who did the same, before taking a sip. "I'm flattered."

"_Sunset in Bali_," he said, naming the piece. "It was a gift from an old friend of mine."

Ezra gave a mental cheer, his suspicions now confirmed. "A pretty friend, I hope." He'd given that particular print to Amanda three years ago after she'd admired it hanging on the bedroom wall of his Manhattan penthouse.

Duncan chuckled. "A very pretty friend."

"I sincerely hope I have the opportunity to meet this very discerning friend of yours in future." He grinned, eyes dancing with suppressed glee. Amanda would not be pleased the two men had met, or that Ezra had figured out the identity of her lover. He relished the idea of being one up on Amanda; a little friendly payback for accumulated aggravation over the years.

"I'm sure you will. I'm having a party to celebrate the opening of my new winery in a few weeks and she'll be there."

"I look forward to it." He tossed back his scotch. "Are you joining us for dinner?"

"I am, if you don't mind. I was at Charlotte's this afternoon and she invited me."

"Moral support," Ezra chuckled, "hoping that company will ensure that Methos and I behave like gentlemen in public."

"I think it might have been something like that," Duncan agreed with a smile. "So you've known Charlotte since you were a child?"

Ezra refilled their glasses. "I have, since I was five. And I've been a trial to her ever since," he said wryly. His face took on a gentle visage. "She opened her heart and her home to me, and that is a debt I will never be able to repay."

Both men fell silent, each lost in their own memories of a time before Immortality, when they had possessed the innocence of childhood. Ezra's thoughts went back to that first night after his mother had abandoned him at Charlotte's. She had come into his bedroom to find him crying in the corner behind his bed. But she hadn't become angry with him, or told him that boys weren't supposed to cry. Instead, she'd sat down on the floor with him, gathering him into her arms, holding him till he cried himself to sleep. She had fallen asleep there with him and when he had woken in the darkness of the predawn, he had found himself still in her arms. It was the first time Ezra could remember feeling totally safe. He smiled to himself at the memory.

A waiter arrived at the table, jolting him back to the present. "Excuse me, Mr. Sanbourne, but your table is ready."

"Thank you, Randall, but I'll wait till Ms. Sparrow arrives with her guest. Please add an extra place if you will, and decant a bottle of her 2004 Pinot Noir."

"Will do, sir," Randall assured him as he left.

"Charlotte is very proud of that particular vintage; it has won numerous awards," he explained to his guest. Then he smiled broadly. "And serving it will assure she starts our meal in a congenial mood. But I don't think we need share that particular bit of information."

"My lips are sealed," Duncan assured him with a laugh. He then returned to the previous topic of conversation. "Charlotte became your teacher after your First Death?"

Nodding, he leaned back in his chair. "As did Methos after he appeared on the scene."

He looked surprised. "I didn't know that."

"It took some doing, as 'Matthew' had absolutely no interest whatsoever in the undertaking, but my cousin is quite unassailable when it comes to getting what she desires…."  


@_______________________________________@  


  



	8. A Mutually Beneficial Arrangement

  
_New Mexico Territory ~ Autumn, 1866_

"That was sloppy," Matthew opined from his perch atop a hay bale.

Charlotte pressed her lips into a narrow line, but made no other reaction. Despite that, Ezra wasn't sure how long her restraint was going to hold. They had come down to the old barn, at the edge of Charlotte's property, for Ezra's usual sword practice, Matthew accompanying them. After the older Immortal had completed his kata, he'd settled in to observe their training bout; but his observations had not been silent ones. Ezra knew that Charlotte's temper was at a simmering boil, just needing one more cutting criticism from Matthew to explode.

It had not been a good week for Ezra and Charlotte. First came the unexpected reappearance of Ezra's mother, Maude, in Four Corners, and the havoc she had - unsuccessfully - attempted to wreak. And then, Charlotte's old friend and former teacher, Matthew Adamson, had found out that Ezra's six companions knew about Immortals. To say he had not been pleased would have been a vast understatement. His displeasure had been placed squarely on Charlotte's shoulders. Matthew had made it abundantly clear that he thought his former student was far too young to handle the responsibilities that came with teaching a new Immortal, and that her allowing Ezra to reveal their secret only proved it. It was an opinion that was bolstered by the subsequent discovery that Charlotte had been Maude's teacher at an even younger age.

No, it had not been a good week at all, and Ezra sighed inwardly, regretting the tribulation that had been rained down upon Charlotte for his sake.

"Again," she said, straightening her shoulders and raising her sword, completely ignoring Matthew.

Nodding, Ezra mirrored her movement and they began the sequence again. He spared a quick glance over at Matthew, who had a disapproving look on his face. He wished he knew what was going on, because the man did have a point; Charlotte didn't seem herself today. Her movements were ever so slightly off, and lacked their characteristic crispness and economy of motion. It wasn't like her at all. He could only assume that the cumulative stress of the last several days was taking its toll.

Time passed unmeasured, the only sound that of metal clashing against metal, intermingled with the harsh breathing of the combatants. Ezra concentrated on the fight, pushing all distractions from his mind. The only reality was the blade in his hand as it danced with him across the practice floor. He was finally coming to that place Charlotte had told him of; where his blade was an extension of himself, not some separate object in his hand. Still, he was startled when he came up under Charlotte's guard, the point of his sword pressing against her chest.

"Well done," she said softly, a smile ghosting across her lips. Then the smile was gone as if it had never appeared. Her sword arm fell, an unreadable expression on her face. It was almost as if she were waiting for something.

"That was pathetic," Matthew slapped his hand against his leg, "truly pathetic. Good God, Charlotte, how is the boy going to keep his head if this is how you're teaching him?"

Ezra started to protest, but the smallest shake of Charlotte's head stopped him.

She whirled to face Matthew. "I asked you to become his teacher, but you refused," she ground out. Ezra's eyes widened; he'd had no idea. "Therefore, you have no say in the matter!"

"If you can't maintain the emotional detachment to train him properly, then you're doing nothing more than sending him to his death. You don't do the boy any favours by going easy on him!"

It was as if they'd forgotten Ezra was even present. He backed away a little, wincing at Matthew's words. From the beginning, Charlotte had fretted that her attachment to Ezra would be detrimental in her role as his teacher. He had tried to convince her otherwise, and though they hadn't spoken of it for some time, he knew that worry still plagued her.

Charlotte paled, a white-knuckle grip around her sword hilt. "How dare you say such a thing," she said, her voice tight with anger. "I would do anything to keep him safe. You have no right to walk back into my life after sixty years and pass judgment!" Turning away, she brushed at her eyes with her free hand.

"I disagree," Matthew said coolly. Ezra's heart stopped as the man leapt off the hay bale he'd been sitting on, his sword coming up and around as he strode the few steps that separated him from Charlotte. But before Ezra could shout a warning, she'd whirled, her blade meeting Matthew's, ringing with the impact. "So you haven't forgotten everything." His eyes glinted, his lips twisting into a half smile. Pushing her back, he began to circle, like a wolf on the hunt. "Why don't we show the boy what a real swordfight looks like?"

Charlotte glanced over at Ezra, her expression once more unreadable. "If you like," was all she said before battle was joined.

Ezra took Matthew's place on one of the hay bales that ringed the practice area, watching the fight unfold. It took only a few minutes for him to comprehend just how much he still had to learn. Feet moved, swords flashed; it was like a ballet, albeit a deadly one. He hissed a little in shock as Matthew's blade sliced down Charlotte's right arm, leaving a thin trail of blood in its wake, but she barely reacted.

"Keep your right shoulder back," Matthew instructed. "That is a bad habit I thought you'd been cured of."

She accepted his reproof with no argument, nodding her understanding. Strengthening her defensive posture, she leapt forward, going on the attack. This time, the fight was close up, as if they'd both decided the time for testing was over.

They no longer seemed angry with each other; though it did nothing to lessen the emotion between them, the intensity of it almost a living thing. Around and around they went; sweat pouring off them even in the chilly confines of the barn. Then Matthew made a move that Ezra was unable to fully track, disarming Charlotte and pulling her against him, his sword coming up to rest against the back of her neck. But she had made a move of her own, and Ezra saw that her dagger was in her right hand, the tip pressed against the hollow of Matthew's throat.

Both of them were breathing hard, their eyes locked together as if in some silent communion. Matthew's hand slowly skimmed up her back, over her shoulder, his fingers trailing along her arm till he reached her wrist. Then his hand came over hers, pressing it, and the dagger she held, hard against his body. The action was fraught with eroticism and Ezra felt like a voyeur, yet he had no desire to interrupt the tableau before him. Rarely had he seen her so unguarded; so…young. For the first time, he could really _see_ her. Not the cousin who had raised him when Maude had better things to do, or the teacher she had become after his First Death, or even the mother she was to the six children she had adopted. This Charlotte was the once mortal woman who had sailed the Seven Seas a century before at the side of her husband, leading a life few would choose, living it to its fullest.

Then Matthew smiled. He kissed her forehead before releasing her. "Perhaps you aren't entirely hopeless," he allowed, his voice warm.

"You always were such a flatterer," she replied huskily, batting her eyelashes coquettishly.

He laughed, the sound echoing around the rafters. "And you, dear Charlotte…," he glanced over at Ezra, "well, not in front of the children." Taking her hand, he squeezed it. ""I shall teach him."

Ezra felt rather put upon. It was bad enough that the man treated him as if he were ten, but now his life was being arranged with no regard to what his feelings might be. It was the sort of behaviour he expected from Maude, but not from Charlotte. Standing, he cleared his throat, gaining their attention. "Pardon me for interrupting," he began with an edge of sarcasm, "but have I no say in this matter?"

Charlotte gave him an apologetic look, but what she said, quite firmly, was, "No, dearest, I'm sorry, but you don't." She waved away his protests. "Ezra, please, you know that all I have ever wanted was what was best for you. And Matthew is that. You must believe me when I tell you that Matthew being your teacher is the greatest gift I could ever give you."

Running a hand thought his hair, Ezra considered her words. He'd seen their duel, and knew Charlotte was not overstating her case. He had often said that he abhorred gambling, and therefore, left nothing to chance. He recognized that what she was attempting to do for him now was to remove as much of the gamble from his life as was possible for a young Immortal.

Sighing, he nodded. "Very well; if you think it best."

"I do." She reached over and patted his arm. "Then we're agreed."

"Not quite," Matthew said. "There are conditions." Charlotte looked up at him sharply. "First, you don't interfere--" he pointed at her, "--you don't question my methods; my student, my rules. Is that clear?"

"Agreed," she said grudgingly. "Anything else?"

"Actually, yes," he said, looking rather smug. Ezra and Charlotte waited for the other shoe to drop. "You, m'lady, have acquired some appallingly bad habits along with incredibly sloppy sword work. All of which I intend to fix."

"Absolutely not!" She stamped her foot. "I am not your student anymore, and you no longer have any right to dictate to me!"

Shrugging, he said, "Fine, if that's the way you see it, then I don't teach the boy."

"This is outrageous!" she practically screeched, madder than a wet hen. "That's coercion!"

He tsked reprovingly. "That is such an ugly word. I prefer to think of it as a mutually beneficial arrangement." The smug smile was back. "Would you care to reconsider your decision?"

She growled something under her breath, in what Ezra thought was Chinese, that made Matthew laugh and say, "Such language from a lady; quite shocking."

"You are a complete and utter cad," she declared angrily.

"And that is relevant how?" Matthew asked facetiously, not disputing her pronouncement.

There was no way his cousin was going to agree to the 'arrangement', he was sure. It was too much to expect of her. So certain was he of the outcome, he was stunned when he heard her say stiffly, "If that is what is required, then I shall do as you wish."

"Charlotte, are you certain?" Ezra asked. She was a proud woman, and this must be a galling blow.

"I am." She didn't look at either man.

"Good, now that's settled--" Matthew clapped his hands together, seemingly unperturbed at Charlotte's palpable fury, "�"I have horses to see to." With that, he strode from the barn, whistling a jaunty tune.

"Yes, now that's settled," Charlotte repeated softly, a pleased smile now on her face.

Ezra looked at her, perplexed. "Charlotte?"

"Ezra?"

"Your mood appears to have lightened considerably, and quite swiftly at that," he observed suspiciously.

"What's done is done; no point dwelling on it."

He was missing something, he was sure. "But the conditions he attached were egregious in the extreme," he protested.

"Indeed, but it was to be expected nonetheless." She looked like the cat that swallowed the canary.

"Expected? But you were outraged!"

"Well now, it wouldn't do for Matthew to think that I had relented too easily, would it?"

"No, it wouldn't," Ezra said half to himself. Then his head shot up. "You!" She looked at him innocently. "Why, my beautiful, clever, devious cousin, you played that man like a Stradivarius!" It all made sense now. Maude would have been proud; it was a masterful con from beginning to end. Ezra hadn't even seen it coming, and more importantly, neither had Matthew.

Charlotte was practically preening, all pretense of innocence gone. "I detest being told 'no'," she admitted. "Especially when it's something so important."

"Do you think he'll realize?"

"Oh, most certainly. But he won't want to admit I bested him, so he'll abide by our arrangement. We all win, especially you, Ezra. And that, in the end, is all that matters."  


@_______________________________________@

  
_San Luis Obispo, California ~ Present Day_

 

"Remind me to never play poker with Charlotte," Duncan said with a chuckle. "Did Methos ever figure it out?"

"If he did, he never admitted it in my hearing," Ezra replied, his gold tooth glinting as he flashed a wide grin. "And I am forced to admit, that despite my reservations, Charlotte was absolutely correct in her approbation of Methos as an instructor."

"He's a pain in the ass," Duncan agreed, "but he's forgotten more about how to use a sword than most of us will ever learn in a lifetime."

Ezra leaned back in his chair, thoughtfully taking a sip of his drink. Then he said, "I suppose that would be true. Over five thousand years, one would most likely forget a great deal."

"And remember even more," Duncan said quietly.

"Too much, perhaps."

"Perhaps." Duncan poured more scotch into his glass. "He does love her, though I realize you have every reason not to believe that."

His laughter was hollow. "On the contrary, Mr. MacLeod; I know he loves her. What I don't know…what I don't believe, is that he will ever put Charlotte ahead of himself. A man does not live five millennia without excising sentimentality from his life."

Duncan sighed. "Give Methos a chance; give _them_ a chance."

Ezra tossed back the remaining single malt in his glass as the clarion call of a new Immortal presence made itself known. "I have little choice but to do exactly that," he said ruefully. "And I pray to God that I am wrong."  


@_______________________________________@

  



	9. For Propriety's Sake

It was a chilly spring night, morning actually; it had to be at least five a.m., after all. Charlotte tucked her bare feet underneath her, pulling her thin silk robe tighter around herself and leaned back against the hassock. She had slept fitfully, waking up a few hours before, unable to fall back asleep. Not wanting to wake Methos, she had crept out of bed, eventually settling on the floor in front of the fireplace at the other end of the bedroom, staring at the dying flames.

The dinner had gone well; far better than she'd expected. Both Methos and Ezra had made a real effort to be civil, and Duncan had expertly stepped into the role of conciliator, smoothly finessing the other two men when things got tense. They were probably never going to be friends, but Charlotte at least had hope now that there would be no bloodshed. Still, she felt pensive, what little sleep she'd had filled with dark and disquieting dreams she couldn't remember. Methos' arrival had brought with him a cascade of memories; many of them ones she'd done her best not to dwell on over the passing decades. She knew that Ezra was recalling many of those same memories, and they troubled him. He worried for her, and though she knew why, there was little she could do to reassure him.

Tentatively, she picked up the small velvet sack from the floor next to her, looking at it intently. Finally, she loosened the strings, emptying the contents into her right hand. Two rings, one, a square cut garnet surrounded by seed pearls, and the other, a rose gold band with an intricate tracery of vines upon it. She stared at them for a moment before slipping the gold band onto her left ring finger. She swore to herself that she would only remember the happiness that had come with wearing Chris's ring, not the grief.

It had been a perfect day, their wedding day. She had worn the silk dress of Carolina blue that Cecily had brought with her from Paris, Ezra had walked her down the aisle, placing her hand in Chris's, underneath the arch in front of the rose garden that he and his friends had built for the ceremony, and Oren Travis had declared them husband and wife. _Till death us do part_. Charlotte shook her head sharply. No, she would not walk that dark path this night.

Twisting the ring on her finger, she smiled, recalling the joy and the laughter. Buck had arranged for the band to play _My Love She's But A Lassie Yet_, much to the amusement of Chris. But Charlotte had her revenge by making sure her bouquet landed squarely in Buck's very surprised hands. Of course, once the shock had worn off, the ladies man had taken full advantage of the situation with the unmarried women present – and not too few of the married ones while he was at it. JD had proposed to Casey, and had received a deliriously happy 'yes', and Vin and Cecily had only eyes for each other. It had been such a glorious day. And while it had been her third marriage, never before had she been so completely surrounded by the warmth and love of family and friends; and she supposed she most likely never would again. Those years in New Mexico had been unique and precious, and she cherished them, despite the inevitable loss that followed.

A shawl being laid over her shoulders pulled her back from that autumn day a century and a half before. "You'll catch cold," Methos scolded gently, sitting next to her on the floor and wrapping an arm around her. "You kept it." He sounded surprised.

She looked down at the garnet ring still in her hand and nodded. "It was the only thing I had of you, other than memories."

"I'm not sure why you'd even want those," he admitted quietly.

She leaned up, kissing his cheek. "The future, not the past, remember?"

"What we make of our future depends on how we deal with our past."

"Maybe I don't want to deal with the past, Methos!" she said more sharply than she'd intended. Taking a deep breath, she began, "I'm sorry—"

He hushed her, brushing his lips across hers. "It's okay."

Nodding, she clasped the ring in her fist, the edges of the garnet pressing into her flesh.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He skimmed a finger across the gold band on her finger.

Of course he would notice. She honestly didn't think she wanted to talk about it, but suddenly found herself saying, "I wore it for years after Chris's death, until finally I put it away and tried to move on."

"Did you?"

"I don't think so, not really. I just pretended. Partly for myself I suppose, but mostly for Ezra; he was concerned. Worried I was shutting out the world, living in the past. It was just easier, pretending." She laughed, but it was a sad sound. "It isn't easy, you know. Eventually, you need help, trying to forget, or to at least not remember. Not to see them every time you close your eyes."

"I know." He rested his cheek on the top of her head. "I know, love."

"I lost so many that I loved. Not just Chris, but my children, dear friends, all gone to dust, leaving me alone and without hope." She trembled next to him, and he pulled her closer. "In the end, there wasn't enough gin or opium in the world to keep pretending."

"What happened to you, Charlotte?"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I can't… Please, Methos, not yet, not now. One day." Her voice held a note of pleading, hoping he'd understand.

"When you're ready then," he whispered.

"Thank you." She closed her eyes. "I was lost in the void, but Ezra and Maude pulled me back into the light, to life, they never gave up on me."

"I am in their debt," he said gravely, and she knew he meant that. Methos often said he didn't feel guilt, but she knew that was a lie; a lie she'd never believed.

Charlotte buried herself against his chest, letting the comfort of his body drive away the threatening darkness.  


@_______________________________________@

  
She held the mug in her hands, letting the warmth seep into her fingers. They had come downstairs to the kitchen, Methos making a pot of tea, while she sat in front of the woodstove. Even with the tea and the fire, she still felt cold, as if the fog drenched night had penetrated the very bone.

Methos pulled the shawl more tightly around her before drawing his chair closer to hers, sitting down and stretching out his long legs. "Better?"

She flashed him a lopsided smile. "Getting there." Shifting, she pulled her leg up, looking at him. "I don't regret my life, Methos, and I certainly don't regret the time we were together. Whatever you might think, I need you to believe that."

"I do, Charlotte. The life you lead here doesn't belong to a woman living without purpose or hope; just the opposite."

Nodding, she took a sip her tea before placing the mug on the chair next to her. "And what about you, Methos? Why are you Matthew again?"

"What do you mean?

"Matthew is a drifter, he exists in the here and now with no thought for the future." She shrugged. "Matthew is who you are when you don't want to _be_."

He sputtered a little, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "Been taking psychology in your spare time, have we?"

"I am right, aren't I?"

"Fine, yes, maybe a little," he grumped. "Adam Pierson and I, we just needed to part ways. And Matthew, well, he doesn't have high expectations, which suited me at the time."

"Mmm-hmm."

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"What? Nothing, nothing at all."

"Oh no!" He waved an accusing finger at her. "I know that look."

"What look?" Her eyes were wide and guileless.

"Please, I stopped falling for your wide eyed innocence thing in seventeen-sixty-eight."

"I haven't a clue as to what you're prattling on about, dear."

He snorted. "Like hell. That look is the one you always reserve for occasions when you think the person you're dealing with has less sense than a five-year-old."

She smiled sweetly. "Your words, not mine."

He narrowed his eyes. "Okay, for the sake of argument then, what exactly is your point? Assuming you have one that is," he sniped.

Arching a brow, she waved her right hand at him, or more precisely, the garnet ring she was now wearing. "Benjamin Adams wouldn't have proposed marriage like he was making a deal for mule team; _he_ was a gentleman!"

"That's nonsense," he protested. "It was nothing like that!"

"Oh, really? Then tell me, _Matthew_, just how do you remember it…?"  


@_______________________________________@

  
_New Mexico Territory ~ Winter, 1866_

Methos paused in the kitchen door, watching in amusement as Charlotte danced around the table with a broom, humming the Little Doves Waltz. He'd been sitting on the back porch repairing tack and had decided that it was time for a cup of coffee. Obviously, Charlotte hadn't heard the door open. As she spun around, he grasped her elbow, halting her. "May I cut in?" he asked with a grin and a bow, taking the broom from her hands and tossing it aside.

Her expression was a mixture of surprise and embarrassment, but that was quickly replaced with a winsome smile. "I think that would be quite acceptable," she told him as he took her in his arms.

Methos whirled her around the large kitchen till they were both breathless with laughter, Charlotte collapsing against his chest, her cheeks rosy and her eyes sparkling. He sank into a nearby chair, pulling her down onto his lap. "I would have thought you'd have got enough dancing in last night."

The evening prior, Doña Ana's annual Christmas dance had been held, and people had turned out from far and wide. Entertainment was scarce on the frontier, so any opportunity to socialize was seized upon with great enthusiasm; and last night's gathering had been very enthusiastic indeed. They'd arrived back at the ranch, the children fast asleep in the wagon, not long before dawn, having literally danced the night away.

"There is no such thing!" she proclaimed, shaking her head.

"I'd forgotten just how much you enjoy a ball." He drew her closer. "And you were the most beautiful woman there."

"I believe you may be biased," she told him with a grin. He shrugged giving her a matching grin. "Personally, I think Jemma was by far the most beautiful lady present," she said of her eldest daughter. "She has grown up so fast, and within a few months will be a married woman with a home of her own." Her eyes took on a faraway look. "I remember when she was five, before her parents were killed, at this time of year in fact. I was holding a dance at my home, a small gathering of friends. The Walkers lived in the country, so I had them bring the children to town with them, to stay for the weekend."

"Not to mention you like nothing better than a house full of children," he said warmly, kissing the top of her head.

"Guilty as charged," she agreed. Then she continued her story, "Ezra was about fourteen at the time, and had been with me for a few days that particular visit. I felt his presence, so had gone to investigate." She laughed. "It really wasn't fair, you know."

"What wasn't?"

"Ezra being pre-immortal," she explained. "He was constantly baffled at how Maude and I always knew when he was nearby. It made his plots and schemes so much more difficult to carry out. Which is probably a good thing all being considered; he got into enough mischief as it was!"

"So what happened?" Methos asked.

"I went into the hall and heard giggles, so I peered around the corner to find Ezra and Jemma dancing. He'd dressed her in an old silk wrap of mine and had put ribbons in her hair and was teaching her how to waltz. It was so sweet, I couldn't bear the thought of sending her up to bed, no matter how late the hour was." She sighed wistfully. "And now, they're both grown and slipping away from me."

He didn't say anything right away, just held her tight, letting her gather herself. Finally, he said, "Speaking of Jemma, we had a little _talk_ last night, along with Timothy."

She tilted her head, peering up at him. "Oh?"

"Your oldest are growing up faster than you thought," he told her with a smirk. "They wanted to know what my intentions were towards you."

Shifting in his arms, she sat up straight. "They what?"

"Oh yes, they were quite serious and very determined that I do right by you. I think Jemma inherited your flinty gaze. Quite scary for a barely eighteen-year-old," he teased. "I can't but think a similar conversation will be in the offing with Ezra in the very near future."

Rubbing her forehead, she gazed heavenward. "They aren't the only ones," she admitted, once more looking at Methos. "Hank Jenkins cornered me in town a few days ago. He seems to think it's his responsibility as he was the one that sent you here looking for work in the fall. I think I fended him off…for now at least."

Methos shrugged. "I don't know, maybe we should."

"Should what?" she asked with a perplexed look on her face.

"Grow papayas!" he said in exasperation. "What do you think, you silly woman? Get married, of course!"

She narrowed her eyes. "You're asking me to marry you?"

"Well, yes, for propriety's sake, of course. It is the most efficient way to make everyone happy and to get them out of our business isn't it?" Methos seemed totally oblivious to the storm cloud that had settled across Charlotte's face.

 

@_______________________________________@


	10. Against Your Better Judgement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While there's no character death in this story, this chapter does contain references to a death a century in the past. Which, I suppose, is to be expected in stories about Immortals. Just an FYI. And, as always, thanks for reading.

Charlotte pushed herself out of Methos' lap, standing over him, hands on hips, her eyes snapping like dry lightening during a summer storm. "If you're so concerned about propriety, _Mr. Adamson_, I suggest you spend more time doing the job I pay you for, and less time socializing!" With that, she whirled, storming from the room and slamming the door behind her.

"What did I say?" he asked himself, going over the conversation, trying to figure out where things had gone south. "Oh." _You idiot_. Okay, perhaps not his most polished proposal ever. Sighing, he rubbed his eyes, knowing there was going to be some groveling to come if he was going to smooth things over with Charlotte.

He needed to make her believe that his desire for a more permanent arrangement between them was not just an attempt to quash local gossip. And it wasn't; he'd known from the moment he'd decided to stay that this was inevitable. Methos liked it here: the children, the ranch, even being Ezra's teacher – though he'd _never_ admit that to Charlotte. And he'd come to appreciate the friendships he'd formed since his arrival three months prior with the men that had become family to Charlotte. Vin, the quiet tracker with a price on his head, who had chosen friendship over running, Buck, the ladies man with a zest for life that never ceased to make Methos smile, and Nathan, the healer who wanted to be a doctor. Methos had done his best to pass on what medical knowledge he could to the ex-slave. He felt needed here, and he hadn't felt that way for a very long time.

And then there was Larabee, the taciturn gunman, grappling with a dark past he couldn't quite overcome. Methos could empathize with him, and when he was being honest with himself, knew that a part of him saw the man as a threat to his relationship with Charlotte. Despite her protests that she and Chris were only friends, Methos wasn't blind; though perhaps she was. He knew full well that if he hadn't arrived on the scene when he had, Chris and Charlotte would have eventually found their way into each others' arms. It would have been as inevitable as the sun rising in the east. He knew her so well, and a man like Chris Larabee would have drawn her ever closer until she'd have been unable to deny the attraction between them. But he was here now, and Methos had no intention of stepping aside for another mortal; he'd done so for Jack, but not this time.  


@_______________________________________@

  
Methos found Charlotte, and he winced a little at the tightly contained fury in each stroke of the axe she was wielding against the defenseless wood she was chopping. Though he couldn't see her face, he had an excellent imagination. He debated coming back after she'd cooled down a bit. _Coward!_

He knew she knew he was there; one of the disadvantages of being Immortal a great deal of the time. You were constantly in one another's space. But not wanting to push his luck, he sat on a nearby stump and waited for her to lose steam. It took longer than he'd expected, but finally, she put the axe down, keeping her back to him.

"Don't you have anything to do?" she asked pointedly.

Rising, he walked over to stand behind her, not touching her. "Yes, I do; apologizing for being a complete and utter cad."

"Please, don't let me stop you."

He choked back a laugh. "I am truly sorry, Charlotte."

Finally turning to him, she searched his eyes. "I'm not sure I believe you."

Placing his palms again the sides of her face, he asked, "Do you believe I love you?"

She looked like she wanted to say 'no', but what she said was, "Yes."

"Then believe that I want to marry you, Charlotte, for all the reasons a man wants to marry the woman he loves. I was a fool earlier, treating an offer of marriage so cavalierly."

Her expression softening, she reached up and stroked his arm. "You'd think with all your practice, you'd be much better at it."

"You'd think, wouldn't you?" he replied lightly.

She was unable to stop the smile that appeared on her lips. "You are, sir, quite hopeless."

"But with practice, I could become much more proficient," he whispered as he lowered his head.

"It is a possibility," she allowed, her voice catching as his lips hovered over hers.

"Oh, a distinct possibility," he agreed before taking her lips with his.  


@_______________________________________@

  
_San Luis Obispo, California ~ Present Day_

 

"I'm sorry, Charlotte."

"For what?"

"For making promises I couldn't keep. I convinced you to marry me, against your better judgment, and what did you get for that trust?"

"Shhhh." She pressed a finger against his lips. "The past is done with, Methos. We both made choices, and we both have to live with them – but that doesn't mean we have to dwell on them."

He sighed inwardly. She seemed determined to avoid discussing the aftermath of their ill-fated betrothal. "What happened after I left?"

"You know what happened." She wasn't looking at him now.

"Do I?" came his simple question. One she paled at, though he pretended not to notice, waiting for her to be ready to confide in him on her own time. Though he was beginning to believe that day might never come.

She twisted at the edge of the shawl across her shoulders nervously. "Chris found out who had murdered his family; a woman he'd been involved with once upon a time. The knowledge devastated him. He was lost…and so was I," she whispered the last. "It wasn't something either of us had planned on. We just needed something, someone, to hold onto, to bring us out of the dark." She laughed hollowly. "But I resisted, I didn't want a commitment and the grief that I knew it would bring, but Chris and his damned sense of honour… An affair wasn't enough for him, he wanted more, he wanted a life together. He saw a future for us that I was too afraid to see; but he made me believe. And I hated him for it, standing at his grave, years far sooner than should have been. I loved him so much, Methos, and it nearly destroyed me."

He didn't say anything, just pulled her into his arms, holding her tight against his chest. It was a start, a small one, but it was something.  


@_______________________________________@


	11. May You Find Peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While there is no major character death in this, deaths a century in the past are referenced. I guess it comes with the territory when writing about Immortals.

"I am so sorry I'm late," Charlotte said to Duncan, sounding a little out of breath. "I had to go out to the east vineyard to check the new Grenache plantings for frost damage. It took longer than I expected."

"No apology necessary," Duncan told her as he pulled out a chair for her. "Not too bad, I hope."

"Thank you." She sat down. "It could have been worse, but we will lose some of the vines. I hope you haven't been waiting too long."

He shook his head, pouring her a glass of wine from the open bottle on the table between them. "I've been enjoying the afternoon. Your tasting room here in town is lovely," he complimented.

Looking around the sheltered courtyard, the old adobe walls draped in scarlet petaled bougainvillea, Charlotte smiled. "I have to agree." She pondered for a moment. "Perhaps you'd like to share the space with us? It's a prime location and having a presence in town really does draw more business than only having a tasting room at the winery."

Duncan's eyes widened in surprise. "Charlotte, that's very generous of you; I would be honored."

"Methos thinks a great deal of you, and you seem a trustworthy sort." Her eyes twinkled impishly. "And the rent would be quite reasonable."

Chuckling, he raised his glass. "A toast, to friendships both old and new."

Raising her glass in return, she clinked it against his before taking a sip. Then she noticed Duncan looking at her hand. "I didn't realize I was still wearing it," she said softly, following his gaze to the rose gold wedding band on her finger. Then meeting Duncan's eyes, she put the glass down, holding her left hand out in front of her. "It wasn't a good night; too many memories haunting the dark."

He nodded sympathetically. "I know what that's like. Charlotte," he began tentatively, "I realize we don't know one another well, but if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here. I know any relationship with Methos is…complicated, and it might help to have a friend who understands that."

Biting at her lower lip, she looked uncertain. She appreciated his offer, but she had never been one to trust easily.

"No pressure," he said with a lopsided grin. "Just wanted you to know."

She made her decision; he was right, having someone to talk to would be a relief. At the best of times, there were few that she could confide in, and when it came to Methos, that number became zero. Taking a deep breath, she said, "After Methos left, I fell in love with a man who was a good friend. Chris and I eventually became more than friends; first lovers, then husband and wife. We'd been married seven years, when finally, it was time for me to move on. We had bought land in California, here in San Luis Obispo, and were going to start a new life here together. But he was killed mere weeks before we were to leave; he died in my arms." Her voice shook a little as she remembered. "He died, but my daughter and unborn grandson lived due of his bravery." She twisted at the ring on her finger. "Methos reappearing in my life has brought back so many memories, and last night, they overwhelmed me."

Duncan took her hand, squeezing it. "Methos hasn't been forthcoming with the details, but he left because of Kronos, didn't he?"

Shock suffused her. "You know about…"

"His past? Yeah, I do."

She drained her wine in one long swallow, Duncan refilling her glass as she began, "It was the spring of 1867, and Ezra had arrived during one of his patrols…."  


@_______________________________________@

  
_New Mexico Territory ~ Spring, 1867_

"It might be wise to stay in Four Corners till the danger is past," Ezra said. Forestalling her protest, he added, "At least Charles and the children."

"Surely the Texas Rangers will stop them before they cross into New Mexico Territory," she argued.

"They have yet to do so," he pointed out dryly.

Sighing, she nodded. "Very well, I shall speak to Matthew. But I will not be driven off my land by outlaws, no matter how nefarious they are supposed to be!" she warned, waving the Wanted Poster in her hand at Ezra.

Both Immortals looked up, as another presence made itself known, to see Methos walking across the garden towards them. "Charlotte." He kissed her on the cheek, before taking the chair next to hers. "Ezra," he acknowledged.

"Perhaps Matthew can make you see reason," Ezra said, sounding exasperated.

Methos laughed. "I think you mistake me as having some sort of magical abilities if you think I can make Charlotte see reason on anything."

"That is enough! I make my own choices, Ezra, and I have nothing else to say on the matter," she said heatedly.

Methos looked startled at her outburst. "What exactly is going on?"

"In Texas, there is a gang of outlaws terrorizing towns and ranches along the Rio Grande. If they keep heading in the same direction, soon they'll cross the border," Ezra explained. "I think it would be wise for Charlotte and the children to stay in Four Corners until the malefactors are apprehended, but my cousin refuses to countenance the idea."

"That is not true, Ezra! I agree that the children should go to town."

"But you refuse," he pointed out. She didn't answer.

"Bandits are hardly a unique occurrence in these parts," Methos pointed out reasonably.

"And ordinarily, I would agree," Ezra told him. "But this band is particularly vicious, and their leader," he plucked the Wanted Poster from Charlotte's hand, handing it to the other man, "is the worst of the lot. They call him 'El Gato', because they say he cannot die." He looked at the other two meaningfully. "Perhaps now, you begin to understand my concern."

Methos nodded, looking down at the yellowed paper in his hands, becoming deathly still as he saw the drawing there.

"Matthew?" Charlotte placed her hand on his arm in concern. What was wrong? She had never seen the look that was in his eyes, not in all the time they had known one another. It was as if all hope and joy had been drained from him, and it scared her as little had in the years she had lived. "What is it?"

Ezra, hearing the fear in Charlotte's voice, looked at Methos intently. "You know him," he stated.

"What are you saying, Ezra?" she demanded.

Methos didn't answer either of them, standing abruptly as he crushed the Wanted Poster in his hands, flinging it away violently before striding off, leaving Charlotte and Ezra without a word of explanation.  


@_______________________________________@

  
Charlotte was waiting in Methos' cabin when he finally returned many hours later. He didn't acknowledge her presence as he picked up a bottle of bourbon from the shelf next to the fireplace, pulling out the cork and gulping down a good portion of its contents.

She studied him silently as he drank. There was a darkness permeating the room that was much more than the moonless night that surrounded them. Shivering, she reached over to the lamp on the table next to where she sat, raising the wick to throw more light into the small room.

"Ezra was right." It wasn't a question, she knew that the young Immortal had spoken truly; she felt it in her bones.

He looked at her sharply. "We're leaving, Charlotte. You, me, Charles, the children, Ezra; all of us. We can go wherever you like. Paris, if you choose. You can see Cecily again; I know you've missed her. China, the Caribbean, London, Buenos Aires, the Sandwich Islands; you'd like it there." It was a rush of words, and they washed over her as she tried to comprehend what he was saying.

"Stop! Tell me what's happening, please!"

"Yes, he was right," he finally said. "My past…you know what I was, Charlotte. I can not be that again, but if he finds me…." There was a fragility to his stance, as if he were made of glass, with only a gentle strike needed to break him into shards that were razor sharp and deadly.

"Methos," she stood, reaching out a hand that he took, "he's hundreds of miles away, and the odds of him and his gang ever coming here are remote at best. You know that!"

He shook his head sharply. "I can't take that chance."

"You would give up everything we have here on a possibility?"

"We'd only be giving up a place, Charlotte, not what we have, you must see that."

"And yet, this place is a part of who I am, Methos, and I will not walk away from it till I must." She pulled her hand from his grasp, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. "Charles is too old to survive a journey on the trail, his heart is weak; you know that. And Jemma marries in less than a month. Would you have me desert my daughter on the eve of her wedding? What you are asking of me is too much, Methos, surely you must see that."

"And Ezra? Would you risk him?" Ezra was Methos' trump card; one she knew that he hoped would override her objections to leaving.

She took a shaky breath. "I will explain the danger to Ezra and he will make his own choice. But he will not leave his compatriots; I can tell you that now with no doubt in my mind."

"And you will not leave him."

"No."

"Then you've already made your choice."

"As have you," she pointed out, holding her emotions tightly in check.

"I'll leave in the morning."

Closing her eyes, she nodded. "May you find peace wherever you might go, Methos. And I hope that you will remember me and how much I loved you."

"That, I will never forget."  


@_______________________________________@

  
_San Luis Obispo, California ~ Present Day_

"And we never saw one another again till the day I walked into your winery."

"Charlotte, there's something you should know…," Duncan began, only to be interrupted by the arrival of a tall blond man who appeared to be in his mid forties.

"Chris!" Charlotte reached out her hands, taking his to draw him down to the chair next to hers. "And how is my favourite godson today? Are you feeling better? Bronchitis is not to be treated lightly."

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "I'm fine, Auntie Lottie."

She gave him a _look_ that he ignored with a smirk. She hated being called 'Lottie', but Chris was the only one that got away with it. When he'd been a little boy, he'd never quite been able to pronounce 'Charlotte' properly, and Ezra had been the one to instigate the child calling her 'Lottie'. Something he still did till this day.

"Duncan, this is my godson, Chris Tanner. He's the best attorney on the west coast," she said proudly. "And, Chris, this is…."

"Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," Chris finished, his sky blue eyes alight with recognition. He held out his right hand. "It's an honour to meet you."

Duncan took the proffered hand, shaking it. "You're a Watcher," he stated, looking at the distinctive tattoo on the other man's wrist.

Chris waggled his eyebrows. "In a manner of speaking."

Charlotte snorted, her face taking on a dark expression. "Chris and his forbearers have protected me and Ezra from that odious collection of voyeurs for more than a century," she told Duncan, the venom in her voice more than evident. "I am forever in their debt."

Chris patted her hand, calming her. "It's all right," he said softly.

"It's not, but we've had this discussion before." She sighed. "You are so much like Vin, dearest. He would have been so very proud of you."

"Vin," Duncan muttered under his breath, an intent expression on his face as if trying to remember something. "Vin Tanner!" he exclaimed suddenly.

Charlotte and Chris looked both startled and amused. "I'm Vin Tanner's great grandson," Chris told him.

"I thought you looked familiar," he explained. Duncan looked at him more closely. "The resemblance is remarkable."

Chris beamed at Duncan's words. "You knew him?"

"We rode together once, both of us after the same fugitive. He was a remarkable tracker and a good man. I was happy to hear his name had been cleared – I never believed he'd done what he'd been accused of."

Obviously delighted, Chris said, "Maybe we could talk some time."

"I'd like that. I could tell you some stories about him that you might enjoy." Duncan had a wicked grin on his face as the two men shared a conspiratorial grin.

"Whisky and women," Charlotte said, sighing in mock despair. "Men!"

They all laughed, enjoying the moment, before Chris stood. "I have a deposition to get to," he said regretfully. "Will you remind Uncle Ezra that he needs to sign those new contracts by the end of the week?"

"I will." Chris leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. "And don't forget you're coming to dinner on Friday."

"As if! I wouldn't miss a chance at chocolate strawberry cream pie for anything!"

"And feel free to bring a guest," she told him, her eyes twinkling. She raised a hand as he began to protest. "Yes, I know, butt out. But you can't blame me for trying!"

"Goodbye, Auntie," he said with fond exasperation. He took his leave of her and Duncan, promising the Scots Immortal that he would call him for that talk about Vin.  


@_______________________________________@

  



	12. Faithless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While there is no major character death in this, deaths a century in the past are referenced. I guess it comes with the territory when writing about Immortals.

"He's a fine man," Charlotte said with obvious affection, watching as Chris walked away.

"But you don't think much of his employers." There was a note of question in Duncan's statement.

"No, I do not. It is a loathsome organization, made up of those not much more than Peeping Toms that call what they do noble. There isn't a thing noble about it!" She clenched her fist. "And what I can never forgive myself for is being the reason that Vin got dragged into his involvement with them due to my carelessness. And his descendants have kept his charge, all these long years later."

"What happened?"

"Ezra's first challenge; I was so caught up in my own fears for his safety that I forgot his challenger might have a Watcher. He did." She laughed bitterly. "And that Watcher approached Vin, holding the bounty on his head over him to get him to cooperate; to become Ezra's Watcher. They said they could make bounty go away, that they had powerful ties to make it happen."

"The Vin Tanner I knew would have never agreed to that, no matter the temptation."

"Of course not! In the end, he did it for Ezra, he did it for me; to protect us both."

"That sounds like the man I knew," he agreed. "They're not all like that, Charlotte. There are many Watchers who are decent men and women who truly believe they are doing a service by recording our lives."

"The very idea of what they do makes my skin crawl, Duncan, and there is nothing you can say to change my mind."

"Maybe I can't, but I can tell you that on one of my best friends is a Watcher, Joe Dawson. I won't say that it has always been smooth sailing for us, but I would trust Joe with my life." It was obvious to Duncan that Methos had never mentioned Joe. What else had Methos kept from her? He wondered if Methos realized what a dangerous game he was playing if he wanted to keep Charlotte's trust.

"And I truly hope you will never find that faith misplaced," she said quietly. Then she shook her head and changed the subject. "You said there was something I needed to know," she reminded him, "before Chris arrived."

A part of him wished he'd never said those words, but there was no taking them back. He leaned in closer, brushing the top of her hand with his fingers. "Kronos is dead; he will never come between you and Methos again."

"Dead? How?" Her voice was flat.

"I took his head," he replied simply.

There was a lost look in her eyes. "Then Methos knew," she whispered.

"Yes, he was there." But somehow, Duncan wasn't sure that was what she meant.

"All this time, he _knew_." Now there was anger in the words.

"I'm sure he had his reasons for not telling you." But that sounded hollow even to his ears.

"Doesn't he always?" she spit out. Before he could respond, she'd jumped to her feet. "I'm sorry, Duncan, but I need…. I'm sorry." She fled the table, heading towards the back entrance of Standish &amp; Black as if she had demons behind her. With no second thought, he followed.  


@_______________________________________@

  
What a fool, Ezra thought sourly as Methos engaged in an animated conversation with a man sitting next to him at the bar. If Methos honestly thought Charlotte would countenance his latest scheme, he was insane. Honestly, why was it that those who were supposed to be closest to you were so often the most blind? Sometimes he wondered if a part of Methos still perceived Charlotte as the young injured mortal he had first met in 1765. God only knew his own childhood still touched upon his relationship with Charlotte and Maude nearly two centuries later. Perhaps it was one of the inevitable pitfalls of immortality.

His idle musings were abruptly cut off by the ringing peal of an Immortal presence – though these days, with the saloon being the regular haunt of so many of their kind, it was hard to guess who it might be. Scanning the room, he caught sight of Charlotte, making her way to where the oldest Immortal sat with his friend, Duncan MacLeod close on her heels. But it wasn't the look of concern on Mac's face that brought Ezra to his feet, unconsciously moving to intercept his cousin; it was the absolute lack of expression on hers. That did not bode well, not at all. The rare times he had not been able to read her had signaled either utter loss, or all encompassing fury; though when it came to Methos, it could be both.

Ezra reached Methos at the same time Charlotte did, though she seemed to be oblivious to his presence. And Methos seemed equally oblivious to her mood, a wide grin splitting his face as she came to a halt next to him.

"Charlotte, I want you to meet a good friend of mine, Joe Dawson," he said cheerfully, waving a hand at the mortal sitting next to him. "I was thinking he would be the perfect solution to your staffing problem!"

Behind Ezra, Duncan groaned, before saying, "Hey, Joe."

"Mac," the man replied jovially, reaching out a hand that Duncan took in his, shaking it warmly.

Charlotte's eyes fixated on the man's Watcher tattoo, plainly visible where his left arm lay against the smooth wood of the bar, becoming completely still. Dear God, all hell was about to break loose, of this, Ezra was certain. Something had been seriously wrong before, but now…. He had to at least make an attempt. "Cousin, Mr. Dawson is an experienced bar manager and—" Whatever else he might have said never made it past his lips as her eyes locked on his for the briefest of moments, making it clear that he needed to hold his tongue. _Ingrained childhood reactions indeed,_ he thought ruefully, obeying her silent command.

She turned to Methos… no, that wasn't it, she turned _on_ Methos. "How could you?" she said with a quiet menace. "I trusted you!" She didn't even look at the mortal. "You bring his kind here, endangering those most dear to me? You are faithless, Methos, faithless!" Before the stunned Immortal could respond, she was already striding away.

"Something you forgot to tell me?" Joe asked Methos dryly.

"She's just overreacting, she'll come around," Methos replied, throwing off his surprise at Charlotte's outburst, once more completely self-assured.

Ezra bit back angry words with some effort; it wasn't worth it, and Charlotte needed him. When he made to follow her, Duncan stopped him with a hand on his elbow. "Let her be," he said gently. "Please."

He nodded, touched by the obvious concern that the other man evidenced. Once more, he wondered why Charlotte couldn't have fallen in love with an honourable man like MacLeod, instead of the ancient Immortal who held her heart. "What happened?" Ezra waved a hand towards the back of the saloon where the two Immortals had initially entered. "Something was wrong long before she realized that Mr. Dawson was a Watcher."

Methos sat up straight at his question. "What do you mean?"

But Ezra ignored him. "Come now," he encouraged, when it appeared Duncan was going to try and dissemble to protect Charlotte's confidence, "you know I love Charlotte dearly and should know if there is something as wrong as I suspect there is."

Duncan sighed, rubbing his eyes before finally relenting. "We were talking, about the past, the reasons Methos left." He looked apologetically at Methos. "She had a right to know." It was as if some silent communication passed between Methos and Duncan.

Methos fixed Duncan with a flinty gaze. "It wasn't your place!" he hissed.

"Wasn't it? It was yours, but you decided to keep her in the dark, the fear always in the back of her mind," Duncan accused. "Someone needed to tell her; it should have been you."

"Damnit, Mac!" Methos jumped off the barstool he was sitting on. "I had my reasons, reasons that are none of your god damned business! You have no idea what she…." He cut himself off, shaking his head. "No idea," he muttered. He turned to Joe. "I need to go, I'll talk to you later." Joe nodded. "Are you coming?" Methos asked Ezra. The surprise must have shown on his face. "You are the only person alive who was with her then, and you need to be there now," he explained enigmatically.

Ezra nodded, finally putting the pieces together, feeling a chill even in the warmth of the saloon.


	13. A Whole New Meaning To DIY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While there is no major character death in this, deaths a century in the past are referenced. I guess it comes with the territory when writing about Immortals.

Ezra and Methos silently climbed the front steps of Charlotte's Victorian farmhouse, reaching the imposing oak door. Methos rested his hand on the doorknob. "It was never about keeping the truth from her. I just didn't want to bring her any more pain." He didn't look at Ezra.

Nodding, Ezra replied quietly, "As surprising as it may seem, I believe you."

Methos pushed the door open and the two men crossed the threshold, making their way across the foyer. As they entered the sitting room, Ezra put an arm in front of Methos, going suddenly still. Methos looked at him questioningly. Under his breath, he explained, "Something isn't right," as he pointed to a rug askew on the floor, and the closed door to the kitchen – it was never closed. It all just felt…wrong. Ezra always trusted his instincts, and right now, they were screaming 'trouble'.

Trouble that became shockingly real, very fast, as an unfamiliar female voice shouted from the kitchen, "Don't you know it isn't polite to keep ladies waiting, Standish?"

Ezra shook his head at Methos' unspoken question. He had no clue as to the identity of the voice. Then Methos indicated he was going around the back; no sense ruining the advantage they had. For once, Ezra was actually grateful that there was no way for Immortals to tell how many of their kind might be present. He warily pushed open the kitchen door, his mind a chaos of worry and uncertainty. Where was Charlotte? Was she alive? Who was the woman and how did she know him? He clamped down on his emotions, gathering the cool and collected gambler he was at heart around him like a cloak. He didn't let so much as a hint of reaction touch his face as he took in the scene before him in shock.

Charlotte was tied to a chair, quite dead, though, thank God, still with her head. Her clothing was drenched in blood, and yet more blood pooled on the floor beneath her. Most distressing though was the blade of a sword lying against her throat. Ezra clenched his teeth briefly, studying the holder of the weapon. The woman looked to be about forty, though in reality, probably closer to five hundred, if the sword she bore was any indication. Her short cropped chestnut hair framed a face that was taut with rage, and dark eyes that looked like they had nothing to lose. All these things he took in, despite the passing of only a few seconds.

Taking the initiative, he spoke first. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure?" He forced himself not to react as the blade at Charlotte's throat pressed down harder.

"Davina Rodriguez; and I know who you are, Standish. And her. Her, you care about. I considered the other woman, but she's far too paranoid, too wary. She," Davina jerked her chin down at Charlotte, "was a much more likely option."

Ezra had no idea what she was talking about. Other woman? Did she mean Maude? Paranoid and wary certainly was a good description of his mother, who always lived her life behind as much security as the modern world could offer. "You appear to have me at a disadvantage."

"Yes, I do, don't I?" she said with an unfriendly smile. "It's very simple. You murdered Kara, and now, I'm going to avenge her."

Now he knew what this was about; Barcelona, last year. "She challenged me."

"She was young! She never stood a chance!"

Ezra was not one to seek a fight, but his challenger had been quite persistent and had left him little choice. He had been on a short holiday with Charlotte and his mother when Kara had approached him. She was on the hunt, and if not Ezra, she would have moved her attention to Maude or Charlotte. He had done what needed doing. "She was old enough to call me out and threaten my family." He cocked his head. "Something you both have in common," he pointed out acerbically.

"An eye for an eye! Kara was everything to me. I found her as a child, raised her, loved her. And now she's dead." She choked back her grief. "I want you to feel just a portion of the pain I do before you die." Her other hand came up, holding the gun she'd used on Charlotte. But the shot that rang out came from behind her. Davina squeezed the trigger as she fell, the shot veering off, not coming anywhere near Ezra. Her eyes held stunned shock as she died.

"Your timing is, as always, impeccable," Ezra said as Methos walked up to him.

"I like to make an entrance," he replied, glancing down at the body of the Immortal he'd shot. "Best see to making sure she doesn't cause anymore trouble." He pulled out a knife and began to cut away the ropes that bound Charlotte to the chair handing them to Ezra who used them to tie up Davina.

As Methos worked to cut away the last rope, Charlotte revived; violently. Kicking and writhing, she tried to break free of the hands holding her. Ezra grabbed her hand, squeezing it. "It's all right, Charlotte. You're safe," he told her as Methos made reassuring noises, pulling away the last of the rope that bound her.

Methos placed his hands on either side of her face. "You're in your kitchen in San Luis Obispo. I'm here, Ezra is here. It's 2009, California – this is _not_ New Mexico." He looked at her intently, as if willing her back to this century.

Charlotte took a deep breath, nodding. "Please, let me up." She stood, almost falling but for Methos' hand at her elbow. "She gunned me down before I even had a chance to defend myself," she said as she looked down at the body on the floor. She shivered a little. "Just like before."

Methos rolled Davina over onto her back with his foot. "What does she want, Ezra? Other than blood, of course."

"She wants someone I care about dead, as revenge." He shook his head tiredly, before asking, "Remember Barcelona?"

Charlotte nodded, realization dawning. "The woman that challenged you; she knew her?"

"So it would appear." He relayed what Davina had told him about her relationship with the Immortal Ezra had killed last year.

"And now, she's about to join the late Kara," Methos said briskly as he leaned down.

"What are you doing?" Ezra asked.

"Taking her out for a drink," Methos snapped as he pulled the still dead Immortal into a sitting position. He glanced up at Ezra. "I can't exactly take her head here, can I? I don't think Charlotte's in the market for a complete kitchen remodel. Though it would bring a whole new meaning to DIY now, wouldn't it?" Ezra snorted. "A hand please?" Methos said when no help seemed to be forthcoming.

"You can't just take her head," Charlotte protested.

Methos threw up his hands, letting his burden fall once more to the floor. "Oh no, do not even start with me! She's going to die, and that's the end of it."

"Yes, she is, but not like this!"

"She had absolutely no qualms about slaughtering you in cold blood, and as far as I'm concerned, that exempts her from the niceties of Immortal society!"

"I'll take care of it," Ezra broke in.

"At least one of you has sense," Methos muttered.

Ezra smiled slightly, warding off Charlotte's response with a raised hand. "When she revives, the two of us will settle this with swords. Charlotte is correct; we can't just take her head while she's tied up like an animal."

"Fine!"

"No, not fine," Charlotte objected. "I'm the one she ambushed! This is my battle, not yours."

Methos hung his head, muttering under his breath about foolish children.

"I disagree," Ezra said calmly. "And besides which, you can barely stand. You are in no condition for a duel, and this matter needs to be settled sooner, rather than later. Please, Charlotte, you know I'm right."

She didn't immediately reply, considering his argument. Finally, she relented. "Very well, Ezra."

 

@_______________________________________@

 

"It is done," Ezra told Charlotte, coming into the kitchen.

The battle had been concluded swiftly, and now, Davina Rodriguez would no longer be a threat to those he loved. Ezra regretted the necessity of her death, but he was also a practical man, and knew there had been no other choice.

"He's very good," Methos commented approvingly, coming in behind Ezra.

Charlotte smiled briefly at the startled look on Ezra's face at Methos' compliment. "I know." There was more than a hint of pride in those two simple words.

Sounding flustered, Ezra said, "If you'll excuse me, I believe I shall repair to my home and seek the soothing waters of my ofuro." With a little bow, he exited the room swiftly.

Methos raised an eyebrow. "He has a Japanese soaking tub?"

"Ezra has a taste for the pleasures of life." Dropping to her knees next to the bucket of soapy water on the wood planked floor, she picked up a hard bristled brush and began to furiously scrub at the blood stain there.

"Charlotte…"

"I don't want to talk about it, Methos," she cut him off, beginning to scrub even faster.

"I know," he put his hands over hers, before pulling the brush from her grip, "but we're going to talk about it regardless. It's long past time, don't you think?"

She turned her head away, refusing to look at him.

"Charlotte, I wasn't trying to manipulate you, I swear. I didn't tell you Kronos was dead because I didn't know if you were ready for me to know about what happened after I left. So I decided to wait for you to trust me enough to tell me yourself. Honestly, I didn't know if that day would ever come, but I was prepared to wait." He closed his eyes, sighing. "I had already brought so much pain into your life; I didn't want to bring more."

@_______________________________________@


	14. Independence Day

**Added Note**: While there is no major character death in this, deaths a century in the past are referenced. I guess it comes with the territory when writing about Immortals.

 

\--=======================================--

 

They had walked down to the beach, Charlotte unwilling to haunt her home with the dark memories from more than a century ago. What she had to tell Methos would be said in the fresh ocean air and sunlight.

Sitting on the root of a gnarled old cypress tree at the edge of the beach, holding hands, Methos drew her closer, not pressing her to begin her story. She was rubbing at the bark of the tree as if it were a talisman. "This tree was here when Chris and I first saw this land. We'd honeymooned in San Francisco, and met a man there who told us how beautiful it was in San Luis Obispo. We decided to take a few extra weeks and come see for ourselves. When we arrived, rode out to this beach, we knew that this was the place; the place we'd come to when I had to leave New Mexico." She looked up at Methos. "We would have been happy here." There was a raw edge of loss to her voice.

Pulling away, she stood, pacing back and forth, abruptly changing the subject. "It was July, and Ezra had arranged for me to have a holiday of sorts…."

 

_Four Corners, New Mexico Territory ~ Summer, 1867_

"Please don't allow the children to frequent the saloon," Charlotte instructed Ezra. "And don't let them eat too many sweets."

They were sitting in Ezra's parlour above the aforementioned saloon, Ezra having taken several of the rooms there, turning them into a suite for his residence after he had purchased the property.

Ezra sighed. "Charlotte, please don't concern yourself. I assure you that I am quite capable of looking after your brood for three days."

She looked skeptical. "I know you adore the children, Ezra, and I appreciate your thoughtfulness in giving me some time alone, but perhaps…."

"No! You are not staying in town," he said forcefully. "You will go downstairs, get on your horse and go back home for three days of peace and quiet, just as we arranged."

She sniffed. "There's no need to take that tone." Pulling on her gloves, she stood. "Very well, Ezra, since you are so determined, I shall take my leave."

"Cousin," he said placatingly, taking her elbow. "I meant no disrespect."

Some of the stiffness in her bearing faded away. "I realize that, Ezra. And I am aware that I have been somewhat out of sorts in recent weeks; I should not take my ill mood out on you. I know the children will be perfectly fine in your care, and I appreciate all that you have done to arrange this holiday for me."

Four Corners was holding an Independence Day celebration; the Standish Saloon providing the fireworks. There was to be a picnic, games, and a variety of entertainment. The town had truly come into its own the last year, and they were going to celebrate. Ezra had suggested he take the children over the festivities and let Charlotte have an unheard of few fays of solitude. Normally, the Fourth of July was one of her favourite holidays, but this year, the prospect of a celebration was just not in her.

"I will walk you down," he said, holding out his arm.

"Thank you. But just one more thing," she patted his hand as he rolled his eyes, "please try and restrain Buck's enthusiasm for introducing Timothy to the working girls . I realize he's a young man now, but allow me to maintain the illusion just a small while longer that he's still my little boy. I know Buck means well, but I'm not ready to deal with that just yet."

He laughed. "Have no fear, Charlotte, your son's virtue will be in no danger while he's under my roof."

@_______________________________________@

 

Charlotte walked across the quiet courtyard towards her front door, carrying her saddlebags in one hand. Not only weren't the children here, but she'd given her ranch hands and her maid time off as well, and Charles was on a holiday of his own, spending the week with Nathan and Josiah at the reservation. She wasn't quite sure what she was going to do with herself. In the months since Methos had left, she'd thrown herself into planning Jemma's upcoming wedding, arranging to bring a tutor from England for the children, training her horses, anything to keep busy and not think of Methos.

Stepping across her threshold, she stopped dead, dropping the bag in her hand to the floor, feeling the presence of another Immortal. Word had come not long ago that Kronos' gang had been killed in Texas, and a part of her had the irrational hope that Methos might have returned. Just as quickly as the thought formed, she quashed it down, _foolish woman_. Swiftly, she pulled her sword from the bag, raising it, before making her way down the hall.

Edging her way past the door frame, she stepped warily into the kitchen. She would remember the vicious smile of her assailant till the day she truly died.

 

@_______________________________________@

 

She gasped for life, the searing pain of the bullets as they'd slammed into her chest still vividly imprinted on her nervous system. Her brain furiously attempted to sort out a flood of emotion and memory as life returned to her once dead body. He'd smiled and then he'd shot her. _Dearest God, it really was him_, she cried silently, futilely trying to break free from the ropes that bound her to a chair. The chuckle that came from behind terrified her; she knew far too much about this Immortal from Methos' past, a man he'd spent more of his life with than sometimes she could even comprehend. She wanted to scream, to beg, anything to stop what was about to occur. But there was no escape, and she went still, slumping in the chair. All she could hope for was that he killed her quickly, and was gone before Ezra returned with the children three days hence. She needed to do more than hope, she needed to make sure it happened.

A hand came around, sliding down her jaw to her throat, the fingers curling around. It was the hardest thing she'd ever done: not making sound, not fighting his hold. His face followed his hand as he came around to stand in front of her. Grasping her chin, he pulled her head up to look him in the eye. "This really is my lucky day," he told her with a self-satisfied grin. "I hadn't expected you to be Immortal as well. But then Methos always did have a soft spot for women of our kind."

So he knew Methos had been here. She wasn't sure how he knew, but he did. The answer was quick in coming as he tossed a framed photograph of her and Methos onto the kitchen table in front of her. It was from the Christmas dance, seven months and a lifetime ago.

"When will he be back?" he asked, no longer smiling.

Back? God, he thought Methos was still here. She didn't even have a chance to answer his question before he drove his dagger into her hand, down into the arm of the chair she was tied to, pinning her hand to the wood. She wasn't able to stop the scream of pain that tore from her throat.

"I'm waiting," he said in a deceptively calm voice.

Finding her voice, she managed to get out the words. "He won't."

"Won't? What do you mean?" He tore the dagger from her hand, the bloody blade now at her throat.

"He ran," she gasped, "ran when he saw your Wanted Poster."

Turning away, he paced, muttering to himself in a language Charlotte didn't recognize. "When?"

"More than three months ago."

He faced her again, crouching down to look at her. "Then you know who I am."

She nodded. "I do," she said defiantly.

He quirked a brow. "You should be terrified."

She was, but she was also furious. "Of course I am; I'm not a fool!"

"Foolish enough to count on Methos," he countered.

"Well that would make two of us now, wouldn't it?" The words were out before she could stop them. The anger she felt towards Methos, anger that she'd refused to acknowledge the last few months, was finally finding outlet in the sheer terror she felt now. Well, she had wanted a quick death, hadn't she?

But instead of anger, Kronos seemed to find her ill considered reply hilarious. He stood up, laughing until he was nearly breathless. "Touché." Leaning against the corner of the table, he asked, "Where did he go?"

Trying to keep her voice steady, she said, "He told me he was going to San Francisco, then on to China." She shrugged.

"You don't believe that?"

"You know better than anyone that Methos leaves nothing to chance. He left because he was afraid you'd find him, so it follows that he would lie about his destination in anticipation of this very scenario."

Kronos considered her words. "Or he told you the truth, knowing I'd assume he'd lied."

"He could be in China or bloody Iceland for all I know," she said bitterly.

"Wherever it is, I will find him,' he promised darkly. He leaned in, looking at her intently. "And now the question is: what am I to do with you?"

 

@_______________________________________@


	15. And What's Left Is Joy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's FINISHED! Yes, for real, it is. Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me till the end, I appreciate it so much. I hope it was worth the wait. And if you did enjoy the story, please let me know. It's like my little reward for getting to the end :) And it helps motivate me for the next one. Which may or may not be a good thing, depending on your POV.
> 
> **Added Note**: While there is no major character death in this, deaths a century in the past are referenced. I guess it comes with the territory when writing about Immortals.

"You can give me my sword and we can get on with it," Charlotte answered, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

Kronos snorted. "We really are eager to die, aren't we?" Then he became thoughtful. "But of course you are; you want me gone. Such protective instincts; how very noble."

She mentally berated herself for being so obvious. Maude would have been appalled at her ineptness. "I merely see no point in delaying the inevitable," she said, with nothing but a vain hope he might believe her.

"Yes, of course." Laughing softly, he shook his head. "Well then, I always do hate to keep a lady waiting." He quickly cut away the ropes that tied her to the chair. "Shall we?"

 

@_______________________________________@

 

Summer lay like a blanket over the desert of New Mexico, the weight of it nearly suffocating as they stood in the center of the courtyard, the accumulated heat of the day radiating up from the terracotta tiles at their feet. From the trees around them, cicadas buzzed an irritating counterpoint to the hiss of the wind as it blew around the eaves of the house.

Kronos looked at her critically. "I'm not sure there's even any point; just look at you!"

Legs still unsteady from her recent death, dress drenched in her own blood, Charlotte did her best to mentally prepare for the upcoming challenge. It was a fight she had no hope of winning, but at least she would die with her sword in hand. Her only response to his mocking words was to raise her sword. Saying a silent prayer for God to protect her family after she was gone, she shivered. _Dear God, please don't let Ezra or the children find my body. _

"You won't last more than five minutes, you know. Best to just let me take your head and save yourself unnecessary suffering." When she still didn't respond, he shrugged. "If you insist."

The battle reached its inevitable conclusion, though Charlotte did last longer than five minutes. How long it was in actuality, she had no idea. The only thing driving her was living just a few more minutes, a few more seconds of the sun on her face before the end. The pain, exhaustion, even the burning agony of her lungs, all of it she'd pushed aside. The only reality was the weapon in her hand. Then it was over: his blade skewering through her shoulder, sword falling from now useless fingers, his hand around the grip of his sword smashing into her jaw, sending her crashing to the ground.

Barely conscious after the blow to her head, she waited for the end. Soon, she would see Jack again, and that thought brought comfort through the fear. She'd had a life that had been lived to its fullest, and what lay beyond was peace. She hoped there was an ocean in heaven; she'd missed the sea these years in New Mexico. Certain she could hear the sound of the surf and the call of gulls, a calm settled over her and she was no longer afraid. But that calm was fleeting as Kronos rolled her onto her back with a booted foot, looking down at her with glittering eyes. _Like an eagle_ she thought absently.

"Now that was unexpected; you actually have potential," he said approvingly. "Very little surprises me anymore, and I think that deserves some sort of reward." Her confusion must have been plain on her face. "Why, you get to live, of course." As if it should be obvious.

It had to be some sort of trick; he was toying with her. From somewhere, she found her voice. "I don't believe you."

"Of course you don't; Methos has filled your head with tales of his past that make him feel less guilt over his actions." He reached out a hand which she very tentatively took, and he pulled her into a sitting position. "There's always a place for those of us with promise. The Game," he shrugged, "it is a waste. When we could rule the mortal sheep of this world, we spend the time instead killing our own kind."

Maybe she was already dead, and this was some sort of purgatory where she would spend the better part of eternity having philosophical discussions with Kronos on the nature of Immortality.

Kronos continued, apparently content to carry the conversation himself. "Methos was your teacher, that's obvious in your fighting style. Spanish too, like your sword," he jutted his chin towards where her sword lay a few feet away, "and something else I can't quite put my finger on." He looked at her expectantly for an answer.

"Pirate."

"You surprise me again, little one. Now that's a story I would very much like to hear; and there'll be time for that over the next few days."

She blanched at his words, all the terror from before crashing back. Rolling, she reached for her blade, but Kronos was faster, kicking it out of her reach.

"Now, now, there will be none of that." He hauled her to her feet, his fingers digging into her shoulders. "My horse needs a few days rest before I get back on the trail. And while you are very beautiful," his lips were at her ear, "when I find Methos, I want him to owe me for not taking your head…or anything else, while I was here."

 

@_______________________________________@

 

_San Luis Obispo ~ Present Day_

"So certain that it was nothing more than a cruel trick, I spent the next three days in terror. But he was good to his word and he rode away, confident that it was only a matter of time till he found you."

Neither of them spoke, both lost in their own memories. Finally Methos said, "And the next time?"

Charlotte shrank in on herself, shoulders hunching as she wrapped her arms tight around her chest, shaking her head.

"Please, Charlotte."

"What did he tell you?" she asked in a strained voice.

Methos sighed, rubbing her back. "That fifty years later he found you outside an opium den, that you'd lost the will to live and he dragged you back from the brink." His tone made it obvious that he wanted her to say it wasn't true.

She wished more than anything she could tell him it was a lie, but she couldn't. "Will it be enough for you to know he spoke the truth? I was without hope, Methos, and all I wanted was for the darkness to end. I was grateful Kronos found me, grateful knowing that finally, I was going to die. But I didn't get my wish; the darkness didn't go away. But for a while, I learned to make the dark my friend." She pushed herself to her feet. "I will not revisit the memories of those years willingly, Methos, not even for you," she told him fiercely.

He reached up, taking her hands in his. "And you don't have to, love." She let him pull her down to sit on the ground between his legs and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.

"I'm sorry, Methos."

"For what?"

"For being so angry with you for leaving for so long. Even after that first meeting with Kronos, I didn't really understand. It was only after, that I realized that it wasn't fear of Kronos, but fear that you would be drawn back into the dark."

"There was no way you could understand it, Charlotte, not really. And I wish you never had to; for that, I am truly sorry."

"Sometimes, I'm terrified I'll fall again, go back to that place," she admitted in a tremulous whisper.

"That was another reason, if I'd needed another, that Kronos had to die." His arms tightened around her. "When he found me again, he told me I was a fool, a fool for leaving you behind. Kronos had plans to rule the world, and a part of those plans included you. He thought he was giving me a great gift, reuniting us. He even told me he knew where you were, but that was knowledge he never shared before MacLeod took his head."

Charlotte trembled, all of her nightmares made real, battering at her soul.

"Shhhh, it's okay. He can't reach either of us ever again. You were right before; we have a future to live. We'll let the past remain where it belongs from now on, I promise."

She nodded, leaning against him, letting the warmth of his body chase away the cold of the past. "Does a part of that future include us?" she asked softly.

"What do you think?"

"I don't know, Methos, maybe I need to hear you say the words."

Laughing softly, he stroked her hair. "Yes, Charlotte, that future includes us."

"I'm glad." She tilted her head back, meeting his lips with hers. Breaking the kiss, she shifted, putting her palms against his chest. "I was thinking that maybe you'd like to move in, officially, that is." Methos had practically been living at her house since their reunion a few weeks before, but he still hadn't given up his apartment in Paris or had his belongings shipped. "We could live in sin," she told him with a saucy grin.

"I can do sin," he assured her, his voice taking on a smoky intensity that made her shiver.

"That's what I'm hoping," was all she managed to say before his lips claimed hers once more.

 

@_______________________________________@

 

_Epilogue_

Charlotte approached the table where Methos sat with Duncan, Joe Dawson, and her godson, Chris Tanner, next to the bar at the Standish &amp; Black Saloon. As she reached the men, Ezra appeared at her side, flashing her a warm smile. She felt weightless with love and joy in that moment, realizing just how extraordinarily fortunate she was. The irony that she owed some of that to Kronos was not lost on her. Returning Ezra's smile, she squeezed his arm. With her other hand, she waved the men back to their seats when they would have stood at her arrival. Then she focused her attention on Joe.

"Mr. Dawson, I hope you will accept my apology for my inexcusable rudeness of yesterday. I should not have judged you based on my feelings for your organization, and for that, I am sincerely sorry."

"You don't owe me an apology, ma'am, but thank you. Chris here has told me a little bit about his family's history with yours, and I can't say I blame you for how you feel."

Chris smiled at his godparents. "It'll be okay, Uncle Ezra, Aunt Lottie; Joe and I have had a long talk, and he won't betray the Tanners."

"I believe that, Chris, and I am much relieved." Charlotte could deal with Watchers, but her greatest fear was the repercussions that would fall on the Tanners if it was ever discovered that they had been protecting Charlotte and Ezra from their notice all these years.

"Joe's a good man," Duncan affirmed, "and a good friend."

"I hope I can prove to you that their trust in me isn't a mistake," Joe said, waving a hand at Methos and Duncan.

She glanced at Ezra and he nodded slightly. "I'm hoping that we will have the opportunity to get to know one another better in future. In fact, I was hoping you might consider becoming the manager of the saloon, as Methos suggested yesterday."

Joe's eyes widened in surprise. He opened his mouth as if to reply, but no sound passed his lips.

"Now that doesn't happen very often; Dawson at a loss for words," Methos said with a snigger.

"Are you sure?" Joe finally asked Charlotte. "I mean, you don't have to…."

Ezra interrupted. "We're quite sure, Mr. Dawson. Believe me when I tell you that neither Charlotte nor I make business decisions based on sentiment. We believe that you are the right man for the job, coming as you do with considerable experience, and, shall we say…," he paused, "unique insights into certain segments of our clientele."

Joe snorted with laughter, looking at Methos and Duncan. "Yeah, unique insights, those I got." He jerked his chin at Methos. "He allowed to run a tab?"

"Absolutely not!" Ezra and Charlotte coursed in unison.

"Hey!" Methos protested.

"I'm gonna like it here," Joe said, a grin splitting his face.

"I'll remind you of that after you've met my mother," Ezra said, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. Chris laughed and Methos groaned.

"I think Mr. Dawson can handle Maude. I'm actually more concerned for Duncan's virtue; he is a very attractive man," she said teasingly.

"Thanks, I think." Duncan glared at Methos who was chortling next to him.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I can't wait!" Methos slapped Duncan on the shoulder. "You'll make a lovely couple, Mac."

"I believe we all have a great deal to celebrate, and if you'd like to make your way out to the patio, you'll find a small celebratory repast has been prepared," Ezra informed them.

The men made their way to the back of the saloon, but Charlotte placed a hand on Ezra's arm, stopping him. "A moment, Ezra."

He looked at her questioningly. "Of course Charlotte, what is it?"

"I've asked Methos to move in with me. I know it's too much to ask for your blessing, but I hope you can at least be happy for me." Her voice was full of uncertainty.

"I know you love him, Charlotte, and while I haven't always been entirely supportive of your feelings for the man," he sighed, rubbing at his chin, "all I have ever wanted is for you to be happy. If that means Methos is a part of your life once more, then yes, you have my blessing. Not that you have ever needed it."

"You're wrong, Ezra. Your good opinion has always mattered, and that will never change."

Ezra pulled her into his arms, hugging her tight.

"Hey, you two, get a move on; champagne's getting warm," Methos called from the doorway, gesturing at them impatiently.

"On the other hand…." Ezra said dryly.

End

@_______________________________________@

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Notes: what happened when Kronos met Charlotte for the second time has yet to be written, but the aftermath of those events can be found in _Bound_, which is archived here at AO3.


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